Last Man Standing
by Liv Tanner
Summary: After losing her partner, agent Effie Trinket of the DSPD is assigned a new one: Haymitch Abernathy, a transfer from District Twelve who claims to have come to Seven looking for a little "fresh air". A series of homicides committed in the Capitol will be the ultimate test for their growin trust, and completely change the course of their relationship. (A little OOC) - PAUSED
1. Chapter 1

_**Disclaimer: **I just used the character for a while. I don't own anything._

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**Chapter 1**

Cemeteries -and hospitals, for that matter- have never been my thing. I loathe them, but don't know exactly why. Maybe it's because of their closeness to the death, and the fact that I've seen so many people die in front of me already that I can't stand being around corpses anymore.

I stayed right outside the giant bunch of people in black surrounding him, trying not to glance directly at Meg, who was standing next to the priest. From where I was watching, she seemed to be in some sort of trance; her face had no expression and her eyes were looking at nowhere in particular, but her hands were steady, pinning Katniss and Prim to her chest. She was wearing the dress she didn't know I had picked out for her, and that record made a knot stick in my throat.

Everdeen and I had worked together for the last… I don't know, six, seven years? When I got into the District Seven Police Department he was assigned as my tutor and later as my permanent partner. I knew all his ways –to walk, to talk, to interrogate someone, even to lie to someone- and I learnt a lot more from his experience than from the academy. I argued with him about every single topic, from his tendency to push the accelerator in streets which weren't a highway to what he should or shouldn't buy to his wife on their anniversary –like the dress Meg was wearing right now. I laughed at his bad jokes and he laughed at mine.

We were good friends, although both of us did our best on not to get too attached… And now there he was, several meters underground, with his chest turned into a strainer, covered in a thick layer of dust and a big marble top which looked like it weighed a ton.

About twenty minutes later, when everybody finally walked away, I got closer to the grave and looked at the epitaph written in the headstone. I'm not one of those very expressive people whose laugh comes from their belly when they're happy or who cry rivers when they're sad, but reading his name there, followed by the phrase "_beloved father, husband, son, brother and the best friend one could ever wish_" made two big tears run down my cheeks.

\- So you took the training wheels off my bike, huh, Deen? –I said, in a half-dead sigh, noticing a tiny cracking in my voice-. You left me pedaling on my own…

I couldn't keep talking. The knot in my throat just pushed the tears out my eyes and I started crying like a three-year-old girl who lost her doll in the sandbox. A very shaky performance, I must say, for someone who considers herself stronger and colder than the rest of her gender and prides herself for it.

\- Trinket.

I recognized Plutarch's voice behind me. His tone brushed paternalism, as if he was trying to console me and it was getting progressively uphill. I mentally thanked him for the gesture; Plutarch is not exactly friends with making people feel better.

\- I distinctly remember you saying you don't go to funerals –I said, without turning around and trying to sound a little more together than I actually was.

\- Well, I don't see any priest or family, so, technically, this funeral is already over –he replied, back to his usual coldness.

\- Still, you did mention something about not wanting anything to do with the death of… How did you call it? Oh, yeah: _incorrigible bastards_…

He chuckled.

\- Everdeen wasn't a saint worth your devotion, was he? –I continued.

\- No, he wasn't. He did die in an honorable way, though, and that's worth my respect –he answered.

\- I should have been there… -The knot in my throat made my voice come out a full octave lower.

\- What could you possibly have done? Do your heroic stunt of the year and then end up as an old piece of fabric just like him?

\- You weren't there either. You can't know what would have happened…

\- I've been in this business for longer than you, so yes, I can and I will tell you this just once, Trinket: there's absolutely no way this could have turned out differently. Besides, I wouldn't have liked to lose two of my best agents on the same night. I had enough with one.

\- That's… -I snorted- You have a really funny way to care about people, did you know that?

I turned around to face him before saying my next line.

If it had only been Plutarch, it wouldn't have bothered me to look like an actual sad woman, all weepy and red-faced over the death of a loved one; he's seen worse. But the presence of the stranger standing next to him brought me to reality; that where I was this polite and almost kind yet insensitive rock that doesn't let out any sign of emotion unless is extremely necessary.

\- I'm really sorry –I said to the stranger, quickly wiping my cheeks with my fingers-. Didn't know you were here…

\- It's OK –he said, with a small compassionate smirk (that's the only way for it to be called) in his face.

In fractions of a second, I took stock of the stranger: tall, wide shoulders, leather jacket, black shirt, black jeans (funeral outfit), ash blonde hair, stubble, silver grey eyes. _Twelve_, my mind supplied. _He's from the Seam; he's got Deen's and Kat's eyes_.

\- Well –Plutarch started-, I guess it's safe to say that the introductions are due now. Trinket, this Haymitch Abernathy. He's from Twelve and… wanted some fresh air, so I took him for our team. Abernathy, this is Euphemia Trinket. She's a local and your new partner.

\- Well, I'm… Wait, what? –I said when I processed the last part of information.

If looks could kill, the one I threw at Plutarch would have made him fall on his back with my father's butcher knife right in his stomach.

\- And you've got nerve enough to come and tell me over Kale's still warm corpse, for goodness' sake! –My voice sounded two or three tones higher than usual-. I mean, I know you two didn't get along very well but…

\- I wasn't going to wait a week or two for you to come back to work to inform you, if that's what you're trying to say… -he said, coldly.

\- No. I'm trying to get some respect to his memory from you… And I wasn't going to _take_ a week or two, either.

\- Good, because there's no time for mourning in this business, Trinket, and you know it. You also know the rule here is nobody works alone, so I'd like for you to stick to it or step aside otherwise.

\- Is that a threat?

\- Take it however you want. I was going to assign you to someone else next month, anyway.

Plutarch flashed me his signature satisfied smile before take a glance to his surroundings.

\- Maybe the reason I don't go to funerals is that I don't like these places –he told me and then addressed to Haymitch-. She doesn't like them either; please make sure she won't get lost and die of fear.

I just rolled my eyes and went back to watch Deen's grave, annoyed to the core.

A few seconds later, when Plutarch was gone, Haymitch came to stand next to me. The sudden smell of alcohol made me turn to look at him.

\- You always carry that? –I asked, when I found him drinking from a flask.

\- Only when the time's worth it –he replied-. Plutarch told me my new partner was going through a hard time and that it might be a little more difficult than usual to bond with him…

\- So you brought the whiskey for courage, then…

He looked at me intensely (more than I expected) for a brief second and then handed me the flask.

\- You need it more than me right now. Sorry for your loss, by the way –he said.

\- Thank you –I said, a little taken aback by the gesture-, but I don't drink this early.

\- Who says it's early to drink? –The smirk reappeared in his face, but it was nothing like the previous one. This was a mischievous, knowing grin.

\- People experienced enough to say that drinking too early in the morning is a clear sign of alcoholism.

\- First of all –he checked his watch-, it's almost noon so it's not "too early in the morning". And second, I'm not an alcoholic. I'm more a… social drinker, if you have to label it.

That made it. I reproduced his smirk on my face and accepted the flask, taking a slow sip. The whiskey soon burned in my throat and, by his soft chuckle, I might have made a face at its taste.

\- Now that's a sip –Haymitch said when I gave him the flask back, sounding satisfied-. So, Euphemia Trinket… You're not exactly a_ local_, are you?

\- What gave it away? –I asked, my eyes back on Deen's grave.

\- You mean, besides the fact that your name sounds an awful lot like a Capitol one? Well, I'm a trained observant and an exceptional physiognomist. I also happen to recognize a district person from miles away. And you, sweetheart, don't look a shit like one.

The pet name didn't escape my ears.

\- But I do look like a _sweetheart_ to you, right? –I said, making the irritation in my voice pretty clear.

\- Oh, you don't like that? –He arched is eyebrows in amusement-. Hands down, then. Capitol people usually don't like the nicknames I make up for them. What part of the big city are you from?

\- I'm from the center.

\- By the magnificent and glorious presidential palace?

\- By the presidential palace, indeed.

I could have said I was a regular on the presidential palace once, but given that the man I was talking to didn't seem so fond of the Capitol, I kept my backstory for myself.

\- What part of Twelve are you from? –I asked instead.

\- The Seam –he answered, and I could hear some pride creeping out his voice.

\- By the coal mine?

\- By the coal mine, indeed –The mocking of my former accent was actually very good.

\- Did you know Deen? –I intended to sound trivial, but sadness betrayed me and the question came out almost like a plea.

\- Not personally. But I used to be friends with Meg before they got married and moved here, so I'm sure he was a good guy.

I detected some resignation in his voice. As if "friends" wasn't an accurate enough word to describe his actual relationship with Kale's wife. I didn't ask anything, though. I'd have plenty of time to find out about it later now that we were officially partners.

\- Sun's burning –he changed the subject, as if afraid I was actually going to ask him something he didn't want to answer-. We better get going.

I looked at the headstone and reread the epitaph. The tears stung in my eyes again.

\- I think I'll stay a little longer –I said, trying to steady my voice.

\- You sure? –He frowned-. You're not afraid of ghosts?

\- I'm going to _kill_ Plutarch for that… No, I'm not afraid of ghosts, thank you very much.

There was the smirk again.

\- Well, you talk about them in your Capitol accent, so I take they're a bit of an issue… -He said, matter-of-factly.

\- Do I? –I asked, raising an eyebrow. If I did so, I didn't notice.

\- Don't worry, sweetheart. I'll keep an eye on you from the good shadow of that tree over there.

He winked as he pointed to it with his head, and without giving me time to reply, he walked away.

I stood in front of the grave for what felt like an eternity.

\- What is this, Deen? –I said quietly at some point, glancing over at Haymitch and finding him sipping from the flask-. You just die without a warning and then send me a highly potential alcoholic to deal with? Let alone the one who probably had something to do with your wife before you... What, you want me to watch over her or something? To forbid him to get close to her while you're not here? That's not fair, you know. Because it's going to be a long, long while, and I've already paid my share with hard bones to chew...

I looked at Haymitch once more. This time he met my eyes and waved me a toast with his bottle.

\- Yeah, this feels pretty _you_... You and your bad jokes until the end, huh? –I sobbed a laugh and quickly dried the tears running out my eyes so they couldn't open the gate for the rest to flow-. Look after me from hell, Kale Everdeen. I'll see you there.

With that, I started to walk to the cemetery main door.

Haymitch lifted himself from the ground and met me on the path.

\- Good talk? –he said, walking by my side.

\- Yes –I replied, with a little smile.

\- So he won't come in the night to haunt you? 'Cause I won't be there...

\- Shut up, Abernathy –I smacked his arm strongly enough to make my point.

Apparently, this man couldn't take anything seriously. Or make a good deed without a joke following. Or (and I would have to dig a little about that) stay sober for longer than ten minutes. And for me, there was nothing more annoying than that. Or interesting.

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_**A/N:** Give yourself a huge thank-you hug on my behalf for reading this :) Don't be shy and please leave a review! _


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

I would happily have stayed in bed that morning. District Seven was a quiet place the 98% of the year, and the shootout three days ago had covered the other 2%, so there was a very high probability that nothing interesting _at all_ would happen that day.

But there was no time for mourning in this business, and I was going to have to make my peace with that fact as much as I would have to make my peace with Deen's death. None of those things would ever change, and both of them would be my professional hell if I left them get to deep in my mind.

_There is no time for mourning in this business_. That's what I repeated to myself like a mantra, all the way from home to the DSPD headquarters. I wasn't exactly expecting someone to hug me, rub my back or say something compassionate like "Hang in there, Trinket; we're here for you" or anything, but it would have been nice to get in and feel some empathy coming from my colleagues for a change. As I found nothing but routine, however, I just went with the flow.

Before I even got to my desk, I knew the _going with the flow_ would be a lot more difficult that day.

\- Not really a fan of technology, are we? –I said, smirking in a very Haymitch way, and he quit kicking the copy machine.

Something close to guilt crossed his face for a brief second.

\- I prefer pen and paper, but apparently things are done differently over here… –he replied, pointing to a big pile of sheets on his desk.

\- Who brought that? –I frowned.

\- I wanna say Mason? Twenty-something female, pale skin, dark hair, big eyes, pain-in-the-ass attitude…

I chuckled at his accurate description of Johanna and picked up one of the sheets. It was literally written in Chinese.

\- Did you read this? –I asked stupidly. Of course he didn't.

\- She said "Get the copies, _probie_", not "Read that shit and write a fucking summary, _probie_" –he grunted-. What's that "probie" thing, anyway? Another way to say "You're my new secretary"?

\- I only heard "shit" and "fucking" out of that whole speech. We're gonna have to work in that language, sir…

\- Yeah, well, why don't you first teach me how to use this stupid thing?

\- How about you first learn to _read_ what you're copying before you waste resources?

He was about to snicker back, I knew it, but he frowned at the sheet I handed him. I couldn't help but grinned at his obvious realization.

\- That bitch… -he snorted-. She's not gonna get outta this that easy, you know…

\- It was a _joke_, Abernathy –I answered, rolling my eyes-. They make the same joke to every new guy in the Department. You can consider yourself a part of the team now. Congratulations.

_\- They_? So there's not just Mason then…

\- Well, Chaff usually does things like this too. You'll like him.

I flashed him my smuggest smile and went to my desk.

Two hours later, when I finished typing Deen's death report (it usually took me no longer than twenty minutes to write and proofread a death report, but everything concerning Deen apparently was a lot harder to do), I went to the cafeteria.

\- Jesus Christ, look who's back… –Jo's voice resounded in the rather empty room.

She walked towards me smirking.

\- I can't be back if I never left, Jo… -I replied, filling my mug with coffee.

\- Still, we thought you'd take the day or something for… you know –She delivered the last part with much more seriousness than I expected. Internally, I thanked her for the tact.

\- Who's _we_?

\- Me and Chaff –she chewed the cookie she picked up from the table-. Well, actually just Chaff. I said you'd come but you'd be weeping all morning. Now I owe him twenty bucks, thank you.

\- You two making money out of someone else's pain? I did not see that coming…

She chuckled and then narrowed her eyes in a thoughtful expression.

\- Now that you mention it, none of us made anything, really –she said, chewing her cookie again.

\- How's that? –I asked-. And please swallow before talking…

She just rolled her eyes.

\- Well, we also betted on how long it would take Plutarch to find you another partner –she explained-. Chaff said it'd be a week or so; I said 48 hours tops. I won.

\- I respectfully disagree –I said, in my perfect Capitol accent just to bug her.

\- Why?

\- It was _24_ hours, actually.

Her eyebrows shot to her hairline.

\- Now that's what I call good networking –she said, surprised-. Let me guess: he was waiting for you with Probie at your door when you got there after Deen's funeral.

I snorted.

\- Worse –I declared-. He introduced Haymitch to me _at_ the funeral.

\- Wow –she swallowed the cookie-. He can be a bastard when he wants to, can't he?

\- He can, indeed…

\- Where did he get Probie, anyway?

\- Twelve. A transfer.

\- Just like Deen…

I just nodded. The conversation was rushing to a place I didn't want to reach yet. Johanna _was_ going to ask if I believed Haymitch and I would ever be as close as I was with Deen, and I didn't quite know how to answer that. I didn't even know how to get used not to have Deen around in the first place, or if I wanted to be friends with Haymitch one day. I didn't know if I could ever trust Haymitch as I trusted Deen. I didn't know…

As if conjured, Deen's Seam eyes materialized by the cafeteria door. Except the eyes weren't Deen's.

\- Katniss? –I heard myself whisper.

Jo looked back over her shoulder.

\- What's she doing here? –she said, confused. _Good_, I thought; _I'm not hallucinating_.

I hurried to the girl, who was sporting a sharp frown of protest on her face, probably because of Haymitch's grip on her elbow.

\- I found her rummaging on your desk –he said, releasing her arm.

\- I was looking for you –she said to me, and then shot a dark look to Haymitch.

\- Yeah, and you were gonna find her between her papers, weren't you, sweetheart? She's not _that_ small…

\- Well, you weren't _that_ helpful either…

\- What happened? –I asked her, before the argument could get any bigger-. Are you okay?

\- Yeah… -She nodded-. Yeah, I'm fine… It's my mom.

\- Meg? What's wrong with her?

I saw Haymitch getting tense at the woman's name, and made a mental note about it. I would have to dig deeper on that too.

\- She's… Gone –Katniss breathed out.

\- Gone? What do you mean, _gone_? –I frowned.

Katniss lost it right then: the tears fell down her cheeks and she jumped on me, hugging me with all her strength.

\- She's gone. Literally –she sobbed against my shoulder-. I took Prim to the school this morning and then went to the bakery for some bread. When I got home, she wasn't there. I looked for her all over the place… She's gone, Effie. She's gone… I didn't know where else to go… Help me find her, Effie. Please, help me…

Her whole body was shaking, and my blouse was getting damp from her tears. I ran my hand through her hair in a soothing gesture and instinctively looked at Haymitch, who just blinked in confusion.

\- Okay –I said, pulling away to look at her and cupping her cheeks in my hands-. Okay, calm down. We'll find her. Just… calm down. Have you eaten something yet?

She shook her head. Johanna handed her the plate of cookies and she took one.

\- Alright –I continued-. We'll need to fill a Missing Person file first. Come on, dear…

I passed my arm over her shaking shoulders and took her to my desk, Haymitch and Jo following us closely.

\- What if she's dead too? –Katniss whispered in a rough voice-. What if she couldn't handle it well and…?

\- Let's not think about it, shall we? –I said, faking a smile of hope.

\- You know my mom, Effie… She's not exactly a strong person. She's not like you; she can't go on with her life knowing my dad's dead…

That hurt. A lot.

I know I'm not a demonstrative person. I know most people say I don't even _have_ a heart and that I turn everything I touch into ice. But that strong, heartless, Ice Queen image is just a façade that helps me bear with the bitter reality of the life I chose to live. I do have feelings; I just don't like to getting hurt every time I show them.

\- I think I should feel a little insulted right now… –I said, putting the exact amount of sadness in my fake hopeful smile, just to make my point.

Katniss got it, and her own sadness fade away for a second, morphing into embarrassment.

\- I'm sorry –she said, looking away-. I didn't mean…

\- Don't worry, dear –I smiled genuinely this time-. I'm used to it. Besides, we have more important things going on right now.

Haymitch handed me the Missing Person file while I sat in front on my desk and looked for a pen.

\- We'll put a searching team out there as soon as possible –I said and looked at Johanna.

\- We're on it –she said, and rushed to Plutarch's office.

I started to ask Katniss questions in order to fill the form, shooting looks at Haymitch from time to time. He had stayed standing there, right behind Kat, staring at the wall with the most worried eyes I've ever seen.

\- Were you planning on going to school today? –I asked Katniss at some point.

\- Is this going to my permanent record? –she asked back, no expression in her face.

I couldn't help but smiled at that.

\- No –I answered.

\- Then no, I wasn't –she said, relaxing a little.

\- But yet, you sent Prim to school. Why?

\- It'll distract her. Her friends will make sure she's OK; they'll cheer her up.

\- What about you? Don't _you_ need a cheer up?

She looked at me with glossy eyes.

\- I have responsibilities, you know –she started-. When Mom's not home, _I'm_ Mom. I knew she wasn't going to _be_ Mom for a while after all this, so I took care of stuff. That's how we work: she loses it, I take care, she comes back, barks at me for not behaving like a normal sixteen-year old, I bark back at her for not behaving like a thirty-something-year old, we fight, we make up, rinse, repeat as needed.

She looked down at her feet and a tear made its path down her cheek.

\- I never thought I'd say this –she went on, smiling sadly-, but I really want the "rinse and repeat" this time.

Something shattered in my chest.

\- We'll find her –I promised, taking her hand in mine.

She nodded and wiped her nose with the back of her other hand.

I looked at Haymitch again. He was staring at us now, and averted his eyes when mine stopped on him.

\- I'm going to take this to Plutarch –I said to Katniss, waving the file as I got up- and we'll go pick Prim up from school.

\- What? –She frowned-. No...

\- She's her mom too, Kat…

\- But I was hoping I'd find her _before_ Prim came from school. That's why I came to you. Two heads think better that one…

\- Katniss…

She sobbed again.

\- It's too much… -She trailed off-. It's too much for her…

\- I know –I replied-, but it'll be worse if she knows you tried to keep her in the dark and make as if nothing had happened…

She looked at me with a plea in her eyes.

\- Come on, kid –Haymitch said, suddenly, getting closer to us-. You said it yourself: two heads think better than one. The more people we are looking for your mother, the faster we'll find her.

Katniss gave him a suspicious look, not fully trusting him yet.

\- He's right, Kat –I said, teaming up with him on this.

Her eyes moved to me, then back to Haymitch and to me again.

\- Fine –she gave in.

\- Okay –I sighed, relieved-. I'll take this to…

\- I'll do it –Haymitch said, taking the file from my hands-. Go get a car. Meet you in the parking lot.

I nodded thankfully and took Katniss outside.

My mind sorted every possibility about how this could turn out, and the more I thought about it, the more scared I got at the situation. What if we didn't find Meg that day? What if we didn't _ever _find Meg? Or worse: what if we found Meg _dead_? How were the girls going to handle that, both of their parents dead in less than a week?

I don't think I've ever wished for something more fervently than how I wished for Katniss to have her _rinse and repeat_.

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_**A/N:**__ First of all, to all the awesome people who read the first chapter: THANK YOU SO, SO MUCH! You guys are making me so happy... This is my first story ever published, and I really hope you liked it (this chapter too) :)  
__ Also, if you haven't given yourselves that hug I sent to you last time, now go give yourselves a double one!  
__Please leave a review!  
__X's, O's and a big, fat lot of love,  
__Liv :3_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Two funerals in six days? That had to be some kind of a record.

I found myself standing in the front row of a bunch of people dressed in black, holding Katniss' and Prim's hands in mine. As I expected, none of them cried during the funeral; they just stood there, Kat at my right, Prim at my left, looking at the coffin with empty eyes, pretty much like their mother when their father died. Haymitch was standing right behind us, so I couldn't see his face when they started to seal the grave, but I could have sworn his eyes were as empty as the girls'. They probably had been so since the moment I looked at him after Jo's call.

We had already combed half of the district by noon that day. Plutarch had not allowed involving more people than Chaff, Johanna, Haymitch and me in the search; he had said something like "We are not your personal backup, Trinket", and one could think that, after that, the task would have taken an awful lot of time to get done, but for being just four trained people and the Everdeen girls, we were working just fine.

When I was about to suggest we headed to the woods, my phone had started to vibrate.

"Jo", I had said, hoping for good news.

"Hey", she had answered. "We're in the woods…"

"Any luck?"

"Um… Yeah, but… You're not gonna like it…"

By that time, I was getting more and more convinced that hoping for good news was a plainly stupid idea.

The next image I saw will never leave my mind: I turned around and looked at the girls, and without need of me saying a word, the tears had started running down Prim's cheeks. Katniss reacted instantly: she cradled her sister's head in her hands and pinned it to her chest, starting to cry too.

"We'll be fine, Duck", she whispered to Prim's ear with a steadier voice than I expected. "We'll be fine. I'll make sure of it."

The pieces of that something that had shattered in my chest earlier that morning got pulverized by the explosion of my heart, and I could feel the tears run from my chest to my eyes.

I looked at Haymitch then, trying to avoid my imminent crying and maybe looking for some help with the situation, but the man I saw there –suddenly pale and somehow younger, frozen, clenching his fists to avoid his own crying- was in no state to offer support.

Past that, I don't remember much. I know I turned the car around. I know I took the girls to my apartment and left them there with Johanna while I went to their home for some clothes and other things of first necessity. I know I went to the morgue to recognize Meg's corpse. I know I saw Haymitch at some point between the Department and the morgue, drinking not from his flask but from an actual bottle of whiskey. But how did we get the funeral ready, or how did we manage to be there in the first place, I wasn't sure.

Once the priest finished his speech, I took Katniss and Prim back to my place. They didn't talk at all during the ride, which I found strangely good because I didn't know what to say or how to answer any question they could ask me. When we got there, I said something about them considering my bedroom as theirs for as long as they needed. I knew they would want to sleep together from now forward; I would have too if I was in their situation, and my double bed was the best option I had in the apartment for that.

When Johanna came over –we had established some sort of shifts system to watch the girls, and I'd be endlessly thankful to Jo for letting me drag her into this-, I went back to the cemetery. Since I hadn't seen him leaving earlier, I supposed I'd find Haymitch right where I last saw him: standing in front of Meg's grave.

I was mistaken, though. He wasn't standing: he was sitting in the dirt, the head thrown back and his flask filling his mouth with alcohol.

I came to stand silently behind him, waiting for him to notice my presence.

"Thought you didn't like cemeteries…" He said when he saw me there, and went back to his bottle.

"Thought you were a… What did you call it? Oh, yes: _social _drinker", I replied, and sat down next to him.

"I'm drinking _with her_; that's the social part of this situation…"

"I didn't know Meg liked whiskey…" I took the flask away from him.

"It's not whiskey."

I frowned and took a sip from the flask. Surprisingly, it actually wasn't whiskey. It was something lighter, sweeter, bubblier, a woman's drink.

"What is this?" I asked, inspecting the flask.

"I don't know what it's called", he said. "It's over Katniss' age; they probably don't even make it anymore…"

"Where did you get it?"

"What? You like it?" He smirked.

"Well, yes… And I'd like to know more about the story between you and Meg…" I said the last part carefully.

That was a first for me. I didn't use to ask personal questions, all the more so when they were addressed to a guy I had just met a few days ago. I never even did it with Deen; I just let him talk about his life and his family, offering a concerned nod here and there, giving some pieces of advice when it came to practical matters, like anniversary gifts or places where to go dine to.

But I saw Haymitch so blown down, in desperate need of an ear to talk to and trying so hard to hide it, that my compassionate being came out to the sunlight and took care of the situation.

"What makes you think there is a _story_ between me and Meg?" He said, bitterly.

"You want the whole list?" I replied.

He snorted at that.

"When Meg and I were young…" He started. "I think she was nine or so; I was 12… We walked in on Sae making this thing in the kitchen. The smell was all over the place and Meg asked what it was. Sae gave her an explanation I didn't care to listen to; she also said it was _for adults and adults only_."

"Now that's the part you paid attention to…" I said, unconsciously smiling.

"Meg rambled on about 'Sae's mysterious beverage' for a whole month. It was driving me crazy. So one morning, when Meg was at school and Sae was at her restaurant, I got into the old woman's house, put some of the beverage on a bottle and ran away."

"That's trespassing of private property, you know…"

"I've broken a lot of rules in the code, if that's what you're trying to say… I'm not ashamed of any of it, though."

"Didn't think you were…" I mused and added when he glared at me: "And then what happened?"

"Then Everdeen showed up and fucked everything."

"But they didn't meet until she was off to college…"

"So you _are_ familiar with the story, then. Why are you making me tell it to you again?"

"It's not the same story, Haymitch…"

"Whatever. You know how it turned out."

We stayed silent for a long while. I kept drinking from the flask from time to time, him throwing me dark looks but not telling me to stop.

"I didn't want to get her in trouble", he said out of the blue, in a sigh, as if answering a tacit question. "If I gave it to her before she was on age, her parents would take her away from me. They were very retrograde people…"

"You didn't even plan on it?" I asked, quietly, afraid of him getting all angry again.

"I did. I wanted to give it to her on her prom night. I had planned everything: ask her out, buy or rent a nice tux, learn how to dance even…"

"But then Deen showed up and fucked everything…"

He laughed at my use of his phrase.

"I don't blame him", he went on, evidently relaxing. "You knew Meg; imagine her at 18 and you'd dump your date for her too…"

"He did?"

"That's what she said when I was about to ask her out."

"So you never did…"

"I couldn't. I saw her so excited about him choosing her over Maysilee…"

"She didn't know you loved her?"

"Apparently, no. I thought I had been disgracefully obvious for years, but I guess I'm a better actor than I give myself credit for."

I tried not to jump in triumph for that sudden confession I had just coaxed out of him. He might joke and show off his lack of interest in stuff all he wanted, but I knew the real deal. His mind worked in the exact same way as mine: never let anything out, never show any sign of weakness so they can't hurt you; and if coldness and the polite smile were my mask, being the guy who doesn't give a damn was his.

I suddenly found a bit odd, though, how easily he gave in to talk to me about this subject. If it had been me, I would have tried to avoid the conversation by all means… Or at least I thought so. If we were, in fact, cut by the same pattern, I would have talked my heart out to him too.

"And you didn't tell her after, either…" I said, back on track.

"When I saw her again, she was already pregnant with Katniss and wearing a big diamond on her finger", he replied.

I looked at his face. He had been crying before I got there; I could tell by his damp stubble. He looked so fragile and so sad… If I were anybody else, I would have hugged him right there. But because I'm _me_, I just offered a proper, almost mechanical:

"I'm sorry."

"I don't need your pity, sweetheart", he said faking a smirk.

"No, no…" I answered quickly. "I really am, I'm sorry for… how it turned out."

"Don't be. It didn't turn out that bad, did it?"

"It didn't?"

"Yeah, well… The girls wouldn't be here if I… Guess that's what they call fate."

I couldn't help but smiled.

"Look at you all philosophic…" I said, handing him the flask, getting up and starting to walk. "I thought you and Kat didn't get along that well…"

He snorted and followed me not long after.

"When I heard about his death", Haymitch said, again out of the blue, "I couldn't wait to be here for her. I knew how she reacted to difficult things. I wasn't even surprised when the girl said she was gone."

"You looked pretty surprised, though…" I replied, not looking at him so I wouldn't scare him away.

"I was _terrified_. Everdeen's death was for a long shot the hardest thing Meg had to deal with in her entire life. I knew she would disappear eventually, but I didn't know where it would lead."

"You should have said something…"

I regretted that the second it came out. I heard it, and it sounded like "If you had said something _on time_, she would be still alive", and I didn't mean to say that at all.

"I know", he whispered. "She would still be alive…"

That caught my attention. It was like he was reading my mind.

"We're far past _what ifs_, don't you think?" I whispered back.

I meant it. If he had said something, Meg would still be alive. If _I _had been there, _Deen_ would still be alive.

"What are you gonna do with the girls?" He asked, changing the subject to a more realistic and certainly more urgent one.

"Let them stay in my apartment for a while, I suppose", I answered. I didn't know what would happen next.

"What happens next?"

There was the mind reading again. This would be a problem in the future.

"I don't know…" I said truthfully.

"Social Services will meddle into this eventually, you know", he stated.

"I know. I just don't want to think about it yet."

"When do you want to think about it, huh? When they knock at your door?"

"Maybe… I think better and faster under pressure."

He smirked.

"I sure will have _that_ under consideration…"

The guy who didn't give a damn was back. I just rolled my eyes at him and walked out the cemetery main door.

When I got home, I found Jo sitting by the door, throwing a quarter in the air and catching it with the other hand in turns.

"What are you doing out here?" I asked. "Where are the girls?"

"Inside", she replied, still playing with the coin.

I waved my hand, urging her to go on.

"Kat's pissed off. I don't know about what, and I don't want to either", she said as she got up from the floor. "Don't get me wrong, I know what they're going through, but… She could use some nice attitude sometimes…"

"You're one to talk…" I snorted.

She huffed in response.

"Come on, Trinket; that would be a crime against my charming personality", she said as she passed by me and patted my shoulder. "You're on your own. Give me a call if you need anything…"

"Thank you, Jo" I nodded and reached the keys in my pocket.

I opened the door to a sleeping Katniss on the couch. She was under the blanket I brought from their house, hugging her legs.

"Johanna?" Prim's soft voice came from my bedroom.

"It's me, Effie" I said smiling.

She ran to me and hugged me as if her life depended on it.

"How long has she been there?" I asked, pointing to Katniss before kissing Prim's hair.

"I don't know... A couple hours?" the girl said.

"She must be exhausted... What happened with Jo?"

"She told Kat something about our bags being on the way. Kat barked back at her and then they started fighting. I locked myself in your room and waited till they stopped yelling. When I came out, I found her there and didn't have the heart to wake her up. She hasn't slept in two days..."

I sighed and kissed her again.

"Are you hungry?" I said, dropping the subject of Katniss. It would be better to let her have her sleep after all.

Prim nodded.

"How about cheeseburgers for dinner?" I suggested seductively.

That earned me a smile from her and an enthusiastic race to the kitchen.

When Katniss woke up, I didn't mention her fight with Jo. Just as Haymitch and I were cut by the same pattern, these two young ladies were each other's reflection, and that only could mean that today's episode would have a round two sooner or later. Instead, I just put a cheeseburger in front of her and lifted an inviting eyebrow.

I watched both girls while they were eating. If you had not seen them together, you would never suspect they were related. Prim was the exact picture of her mother, all blonde hair and bright blue eyes; she even looked more like me than her sister, and we could easily pass for mother and daughter. Katniss, on the other hand, was all Seam: dark hair, slightly tanned skin and the signature grey eyes, just like Deen and Haymitch.

But there was something in their laughing, maybe, or in the way they walked... Something in the way they looked at each other and knew exactly what the other was thinking that made you realize these girls had a bond -a blood bond- that nothing could ever, ever break. Not even the death of both their parents.

I wondered what I was supposed to do in all this. Keep the girls with me until Social Services came and take them away? Search for some relative to take care of them? Step aside and let fate take over? The first option seemed to be the sanest yet the hardest. The second one, the stupider. The third one was not an option.

I owed this to Deen. I was the only one left to make sure his girls could have a decent life after his and his wife's death, and the only one who wasn't prepared to do it.

But that didn't mean I was going to back down on the challenge.

* * *

_**A/N:**__ Hey everybody! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked this one, and I know it's not quite what the summary says it is yet, but I'm getting there!  
__Please keep reviewing!  
__As always, your thank-you hug is here waiting for you to take it :)  
__A big, fat lot of love (bigger than the last one)  
__Liv :3_


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Honestly, I thought it would be worse. I thought Kat and Prim would never get used to live anywhere else than their home with their parents, or that they would never get used to have the entire DSPD upon their heads, looking after them when I was not around to do it. I thought Katniss would never be okay with having Johanna around given their little yet intense quarrel when this whole thing started… But two months into it, we were working just fine. The girls had gotten back to school –both of them had refused at first-, I myself had gotten used to having them in my home and things in Seven had gone back to normality: nothing interesting happening on the streets.

It was pretty boring, actually; maybe I hadn't realized it yet because I had never been this involved in the most exciting case of the month, but now I came to understand what Chaff had told me the first time I met him: I needed to find a hobby. ASAP.

Apparently, he had said the same thing to Haymitch, because he seemed to find very enjoyable to say the exact opposite thing to _every single word_ I dared to come up with in his presence, no matter how important was the topic we were discussing; or throw little paper balls at my head when I finally got to find a mildly interesting article on the internet to focus my eyes and mind on; or answering my questions in the thickest version of a Capitol accent he could fake.

_Your opinions are diametrically opposed to mine; I _have_ to point it out_, he'd say when I looked at him, silently begging for a bit of peace. Or: _I just find it necessary to remind you the wonderful things about the place you come from_. So far, my favorite one was: _I don't like the crease on your forehead when you over-concentrate_. Absolutely annoying.

"Trinket!" I heard Plutarch calling one day, all of a sudden, when I was playing solitaire on my computer.

By the sound of my last name on his voice, I knew things were about to get tough, so I went to his office and closed the door behind me.

"Would you mind to explain me this?" He said, throwing an envelope with the presidential symbol on his desk.

"It's a presidential letter…" I replied, my mind running as fast as it could through the possible answers to what it had to do with me.

"I can see that… Can you read the name of the person it is addressed to, please?"

I took the envelope and read it.

_Ms. Euphemia Snow_.

"Shit…" I whispered and automatically chided myself for that.

"I hope you have a very good and convincing explanation for this, Miss _Trinket_…"

I looked at him in genuine confusion. What could I say? That my original last name was, indeed, Snow? That I was the President's granddaughter but that I changed my name so people wouldn't relate me to him or his -_my_\- family and that I did it for the most childish reason one could ever change their names? That would only lead to a long, long list of _explanations_ I wasn't ready to give yet.

"I'm waiting, Trinket. Or should I call you Snow?" he said, and I realized I had been silent for too long.

"My name _is_ Euphemia Trinket", I started. "It's legal, if that's what you're wondering. I changed it before I came to Seven."

"You _changed_ it? So you _are_ a Snow…"

"By blood, yes. My mother is Coriolanus Snow's eldest daughter, so…"

"But your father's last name is Trinket, I'm guessing? And you wanted to use it…"

I sighed. _That_, for instance, was one of the things I wasn't willing to discuss in that precise moment.

"No, I chose that one when I decided to change my name."

He looked at me like he was reading my face.

"Why would you do that, _change your name_?" He said in a laugh, as if what I had done was the stupidest, most ridiculous thing in the world. "You're the President's granddaughter! That's an absolute honor, don't you think?"

"For most people, I suppose…"

"Why not for you?"

Again: what could I say? That being a Snow didn't mean anything to me but being segregated by my own family? That being a single mother's daughter had brought me nothing but cruel jokes from my cousins and hostility from the rest of my relatives?

"Too much social pressure, I think…" I chose to reply.

"Finnick Odair seems to deal with it perfectly well…"

Of course, Finnick Odair. _That drunk in fame, cynical bastard_, my mind supplied.

"That's completely different. He needs the publicity, I don't. Yet, I really think that if he didn't have a dead father's last name to carry, he'd change it to Snow at once… See? Changing a name or not it's not that silly. We all have our motives. What would you change yours to?"

"Don't use Everdeen's distracting techniques on me, Trinket…" Plutarch half-smiled.

"Still, I'd like to know who you would be if not Plutarch Heavensbee…" I retorted him the half smile.

"He taught you well, huh?"

"I learnt from the best."

"Why 'Trinket'?"

"It's a long story I don't think you have the time to listen to… Plus, I have an official letter to read, don't I? I should get to it so the President won't be disappointed at my lack of punctuality, whatever he needs it to…"

Plutarch laughed.

"We're not done here, Trinket. Get out." He waved me to emphasize his point and I ran out the door.

Once in my desk, I opened the glorious envelope. It was a formal invitation to Snow's 90th Birthday Party.

"What's this?" Jo said, suddenly taking the sheet from my hands. "A boyfriend's letter?"

"Jo!" I chided her and took the sheet back. "Seriously, what on Panem is wrong with your manners?"

"Whose birthday party you're invited to?"

"No one you should know about…"

"Oh, come on!"

Johanna took the sheet again and read it. Then she looked at me, frowning.

"That's what I call being a very important person…" She said, putting the sheet on my desk and then crossed her arms over her chest. "President Snow, really?"

In the corner of my eye, I saw Haymitch lift his head and look at me.

"I'm not going…" I declared.

"But is the most exciting event of the year!" Johanna exclaimed, in a perfectly fake Capitol accent. "And you've got an official invite! That's gotta be important…"

I narrowed my eyes at her and sat down on my chair.

"Seriously, though", she went on. "Since when do you know the guy in person? 'Cause you never talk about your life back in the Capitol…"

"And this is not the exception to that rule, Jo. I would really appreciate it if you let it go", I said, more firmly than kindly.

"I will find out, you know…" she smirked and walked away. "We're not done here."

How many times would I have to hear that phrase? Apparently, and fortunately, that was the last time that day.

I got home that night to find Katniss and Prim sleeping in the couch. The TV was on, so I assumed they were watching something. I put it off and went to the guest's room –my room now. I had already taken off my shoes by the door when I heard the soft steps behind me.

"Hey… How was your day?" Katniss asked.

I looked at her over my shoulder and smiled.

"Boring as usual", I said, turning around to hug her. "You never ask me that question. What's wrong?"

She hugged me tighter. _Okay, there _was_ something wrong._

"I was thinking about them today…" She started, burying her face in my shoulder. "It's been two whole months, you know? This Friday…"

I ran my fingers through her hair.

"Yes, sweetie, I know…" I whispered before dropping a kiss to the top of her head.

"I didn't want to ask you this before… But I want to go to the cemetery on Friday. Prim too. After school. Put some flowers on their graves…"

"Of course, darling… I'll take you there" I kissed her again.

"It's gonna be so sad…" Her voice cracked.

I couldn't reply to that. It _was_ going to be really sad.

"You want a cheer up?" I said, without really thinking on my next line.

She nodded.

"I've been recently invited to a birthday party in the Capitol. According to Jo, it's going to be the most exciting event of the year…"

"What, you got an invite to the President's birthday party or something?" She said, chuckling.

"Perhaps…" I answered.

She pulled away and looked at me with narrow eyes.

"You did?" She asked.

I just laughed.

"How? When?" She inquired, her eyes widening.

"This morning, via my grandfather." There was no point on lying to Katniss. I didn't tell her _who_ was my grandfather, though, but if she was the tiniest bit like her dad, she'd find out sooner or later.

"You know the Snow family?"

"I do, yes… You want to go?" Of course she wanted. She had asked if I knew _the Snow family_, and given that Katniss was 16, the _family_ part could only mean Peeta or Finnick. She might be a little too mature for her age, but there was no girl in Panem who wasn't drooling about the President's two youngest grandsons.

"I don't own any fancy dresses…" she mused.

"That's easy: you go to the store with Prim and you buy some. I don't want Finnick or Peeta disappointing on your looks…"

Kat blushed crimson.

"I don't… know what you're talking about", she said, faking a pout of indifference that soon turned into a wide smile. "Thank you…"

I hugged her again and sent her to wake her sister up and go to bed. I stood by the guest's room door watching her tell Prim about the party and then both of them laughing in excitement, and I prayed for that smile to stay forever in their faces.

On Friday, however, the smile didn't show up at all. The girls were silent all the way from the school to the cemetery and stayed so for a while when we got to their parents' graves.

When Katniss started to talk as if she was talking to them, I walked away slowly. I didn't like it when people heard my soliloquies with my mother or with Deen, so I thought they'd appreciate a little space.

"Thought you didn't like these places…" Haymitch's voice behind me took me out of my thoughts.

"What are you doing here?" I asked without looking at him.

"I come here every Friday."

"Never pegged you as the romantic guy…"

"Who says I am?"

"You're the one who puts a lily on her grave, aren't you?" I turned around to face him.

He frowned, confused and a bit surprised.

"I come every week too…" I confessed, bowing my head a little.

"Never pegged you as the moping friend…" He said, smirking.

"I don't mope, thank you very much." I turned to the girls again.

"'Course you don't…"

We stayed silent for like two minutes before Haymitch spoke again.

"It's their first time?" He asked, pointing to the girls with his chin.

"It is…" I said quietly.

"Who wanted to come?"

"Both, I think. Katniss asked me to bring her and Prim here today. It's been two months."

"How they doing?"

"Better than I expected. They don't cry as often as they did at first… They're tough girls, you know…"

"So was Meg…"

I could have easily disagreed with that. I prided myself on being a tough girl, and to me that mere concept meant to be strong enough to deal with whatever problem, pain or sorrow is haunting you. Kill yourself because you can't move on with your life after a tragedy of these proportions? That's outright coward, let alone selfish. If suicide was an option for tough girls, I could have done that; after all, I had no one to hang on for in this fucked up world, no one who'd have missed me, no one to fight for. But Meg had Katniss and Prim; she was their mother and they needed her. You don't do that when you have someone to live for. You don't just stop existing and leave them to their fates. You just _don't_.

"You have to be too coward and equally brave to take your own life, you know…" Haymitch said, suddenly. "It's like throwing a big 'back off' in God's face. Your life is yours; you do what you want with it. You choose to live it with all its ups and downs or you just don't. She chose the last one, and I respect that decision."

I looked at him and studied his face. His expression was serious and sad but calmed at the same time, and my mind took two different lines of thoughts: I wondered if he was aware of our kind of mental connection, or if he could tell when he was sort of reading my mind and answering out loud to my tacit questions or when I was actually asking or saying something. On the other hand, I wondered if he had finally accepted the fact that Meg would never come back and if he had made his peace with it. Wholeheartedly, I hoped so.

"I'm taking Kat and Prim to the President's party tonight", I blurted out, without really thinking of it, after a long moment while neither of us said anything.

"You said you weren't going", he replied, frowning. "Johanna will flip out when she finds out you didn't take her too…"

I laughed at that.

"Oh, yes, she was _so excited_ to come… How inconsiderate of me!" I said, smiling. "Still, I'm doing it for them. They could use some distraction now and then…"

"Yeah, right… Like you can actually wait to wear that pink dress you've been saving for the occasion", he mocked.

"What's wrong with pink?" I asked, unconsciously.

His smirk grew wider.

"So it _is_ pink, huh?" He said, raising his eyebrows in amusement. "Wow, I should quit the cop job and start my own fortune-telling business…"

"If that keeps you and your constant poking away from me, I might even invest on it…" I replied.

He just chuckled.

"Put this on her grave for me, would you?" he said, handing me a lily and starting to walk away.

I stared at it for two seconds.

"It's her favorite flower, isn't it?" I asked, trying not to be loud. He was too far already.

Haymitch just winked at me and kept going.

* * *

_**A/N:** Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked this one :) We're getting to the Capitol, people... Watch out for next chapter and please leave a review!  
__As always, free thank-you hugs for everybody and a big, fat lot of love,  
Liv :)_


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

From what I could see from the train window, the President's birthday party was more and more swanky every year. We hadn't even reached Two's western border and the colorful lights in the square could already be seen, and I'm sure that if we had actually made a scale in Two's train station, we could have heard the cheering and the happy songs coming from the Presidential Palace.

I started to feel sick to my stomach; I didn't know if it was because of the train ride itself –I hadn't been on this train since I left the Capitol, and that was almost eight years ago- or because of the always promising prospect of meeting my family again. It probably was the second one, because the closer we got to my former home, the higher the vomit felt in my throat.

I didn't even remember when I started to feel this way about the Snows. It had just happened: yesterday they were the coolest people ever; today I can't stand them anymore. It hadn't been that easy to extricate myself from them, though. It took me a lot of "Thank you, but I can't go to this reunion", "Thank you, but I have to work tomorrow and can't be at your birthday tonight", and "Thank you but I have a date that evening… This might be _it_, you know? I can't let this go". It took me a lot of paperwork, too; changing your name in Panem isn't a simple thing, especially when you carry the name of the most important man in the country.

But now that everything was said and done, the mere idea of going all the way back to play the role I tried so hard to take out from the story was frightening.

The girls, on the other hand, were ecstatic. I don't know if Deen was one of those dads who let their kids to learn things on their own, but by the grin Katniss was sporting when we reached Seven's woods and she saw her favorite color all over the place, he probably never let her and Prim to get out a single meter from his sight. Add to the formula two beautiful dresses (a red, strapless evening gown that seemed to be on fire on the bottom for Katniss; a bright yellow, knee-length halter dress for Prim) and the chance to meet the hottest guys in all Panem, and you have yourself two overexcited teenagers.

The Capitol's train station was as crowded as I expected: an ocean of people wearing blinding colors, wigs, heavy make-up and every extravagant accessory one could imagine. Kat, Prim and I looked at them from our cart and tried to figure out a way to walk through them to the party.

"I could have come wearing my pajamas and nobody would have noticed…" Katniss murmured in amusement.

"One of the reasons I left the Capitol, dear…" I replied, putting on my shoes. I had carried them all the way from Seven; those heels would have killed me otherwise.

"Do you miss it? The showing off, the spot always shining upon you…"

"Well, the spot didn't exactly always shine upon _me_…"

"You know what I mean. Us districtees never party, and when we do, it's a pretty quiet thing, no riot…"

I hummed in consideration. _Did I miss it?_

"I'd be lying if I told you I don't", I replied after a few seconds, "but I like better the 'no riot', you know? Loud music and all the drinks you can get are fun, but every day of every month for the next fifty years? I don't think so."

In that exact second, as if to prove my point, a man's white shoe hit the glass.

"See?" I said to a couple of startled Everdeen girls. "People go crazy when there's a party here. You'd have run away too…"

I quickly got up and guided the girls to the door, hoping for the people outside to behave like humans at least until we could get to the next street. A couple dozens of minutes later, we were on our way to the Presidential Palace.

The crowd in the train station had absolutely nothing on the hundred tons of people in the Palace's patio. Not to mention the cameras in every corner, the reporters attacking whoever dared to cross their path with the craziest and most pointless questions I've ever heard and the waiters wearing immaculate white costumes and bringing drinks and food to everyone...

"Well… Here we are, you guys", I said looking around me and taking a deep breath.

"It makes you feel really small, doesn't it?" Prim mused, and I couldn't figure out if she had said it out of scare or excitement.

I smiled at her, and trying to avoid the imminent possibility of hearing an 'I don't want to be here anymore; take us home' coming from her mouth or Kat's, I said:

"For a while, it does. But once you're in, you won't want to get out…"

I glanced at Katniss (who apparently was a little more experienced at partying) looking for support on that one, but her eyes were fixed in a faraway point. I followed her gaze and almost immediately spotted Peeta standing by himself in the opposite corner, with a green drink on his hand.

I couldn't help it but smiled wider.

"You're going to stalk him all night?" I whispered to her ear, as Prim started to walk to the buffet.

She snapped out of whatever she was thinking.

"Sorry, what?" she asked, and I laughed as I pointed to Peeta with my chin. "I'm not… I'm not looking at him!"

Her cheeks fired up.

"Of course you're not," I said, my eyes back at where the boy was standing. "He's looking back at you now… Oh, no, wait: you were _not_ looking at him, so he's just looking at you…"

An older person's neck would have cracked really loud if they had turned as fast as Katniss did to look at Peeta. As if on cue, he smiled at her in a very Finnick fashion –that wolfish, almost blinding, signature smile that every member of the Snow family happened to always flash you with, myself included- and started to walk towards us.

"Oh, gosh, he's coming… What do I do?" Kat whispered in a rush.

"Just be your usual self," I said, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear.

"Yeah, but what do I _do_? What do I talk about? You're the one who said you knew him!"

"I did, but I'm not sixteen anymore. I don't know what subjects you youngsters talk about nowadays… Plus, I haven't talked to him in, like, forever. Just be yourself! You'll be fine…"

And before she could say anything else, I walked away.

I was about to grab a mini sandwich from the platter a waiter was offering me when a male voice behind me stopped me.

"Euphemia…"

I didn't have to turn to know it was Finnick. I could recognize that smug voice even if I was deaf.

"Hello, Finnick," I said, faking my brightest smile.

"You're not drinking yet? Because I got you something… What do you like? Blue? Red?" he offered, showing me the drinks he had on his hands.

"No, thanks… I'm driving."

"I bet you are. But you know, this is probably the biggest party in the Capitol since the time you left, and Seven looks like a pretty quiet place, so here's what I propose: bottoms up, enjoy the night and we'll get you home in a taxi…"

"All the way back to Seven? That'd be extremely expensive and I can't keep you from paying the debt for that outfit…"

He looked like some sort of pirate. He didn't match the theme of the party –_if_ there even was a theme; everybody seemed to have picked up the first thing that jumped out their closets and come for the free drinks-, but that was exactly how Finnick Odair operated.

"Where did you get that masterpiece, anyway?" He said as he looked at me from head to toe. "They don't sell those in Seven, do they?"

"It was a gift." I answered, too quickly, maybe. The guy had started to unnerve me.

"Well, you look terrific… I miss the wig, though. What happened there?"

"We fought and she filed a divorce. She kept the make-up."

Finnick smirked.

"I just hope Grandpa and the others don't mind your lack of style… We're meeting with them in five minutes, by the way." He declared.

So _that_ was this all about: a family reunion. I wondered how important it was, since the President bothered to send me an official invite to his party… He even addressed the damn thing to _Euphemia Snow_, so the letter wouldn't get to me directly and I wouldn't have any other option but coming here and play my part if I didn't want to give any explanations to anybody.

I hate to admit it, but the man was clever.

"And he sent you to escort me to his dining room or something?" I said, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course not. He's perfectly aware of your wishes of doing everything on your own." Finnick replied and then looked over my shoulder with a frown. "Like setting up a date for my brother, I see…"

"Who says it was me?"

"I can tell by the cheap dress the girl is wearing…"

"_Right_, I forgot your brother only likes girls who can afford dresses that cost a mortgage… Oh, no: that was _you_…"

Finnick flashed me his wolfish smile again.

"You're still disappointed because our thing didn't work out, aren't you?" he whispered to my ear, suddenly putting his arm around my waist and tugging me closer to him.

There. _That_ was why I felt so sick when anything Snow-related came up around me and why it was getting worse now that I had to come back to their pit. _That_ was, actually, one of the main reasons I left in the first place: that insane and repugnant need of keeping the name's reputation no matter how.

Evidently, committing incest wasn't an issue. That was the way things were done in the Capitol, and if it helps to keep the breed pure, so be it. Being the only woman of my generation, of course, wasn't helping. I was the only option to produce Snow's direct descendants, and our beloved President wasn't going to spare any resources.

For years, he tried really hard to get me together with one of my younger cousins. I guess if I had done it, I could have earned the attention I always craved from him when I was little. Because –and I hate to admit that, too- I would have killed for being my grandfather's little girl. I did exceptionally well in school, graduated from college with the highest honors and made a lot of future valuable connections for me _and_ for the family, but nothing of that ever seemed to please him. He wanted pure blood; I didn't have it. I didn't even know it, because my mother never told me anything until the whole 'Have a kid with your cousin' thing.

I remember Cinna refused; he said he loved me way too much to even think of ruining my life with that unhuman abomination, and I still thank him for that. He's probably the only person in the Capitol I miss. He's probably the only relative I truly care about.

But Finnick was his mother's son, and Alma had always had a very particular way to stick the craziest ideas in his head. She'd claimed it was to be done for the sake of the family and that it would earn us the absolute love of the people. He actually told me that the first time he tried to approach me: "_You want love? _This_ can bring you love, Euphemia; even _his_ love. Even _my_ love, who knows?_" Those had been his exact words, as if they were reason enough for us to find a bed and make a child.

The vomit burned in my throat.

"Hm… Well, you were the one who ran away in panic when you knew about my half-breed filthy blood, so… I'm still blaming you, _cousin_," I whispered back, trying to sound as smug as I could to hide my growing revulsion.

"Things have changed over here, you know," he said, stepping even closer, his chest now glued to mine. "Your… _half-breed filthy blood_ isn't a problem anymore…"

"What is that supposed to mean?" I asked almost too loud as he tried to kiss the hollow of my throat, making a few heads turn towards us.

He released me immediately, smiling in amusement.

"Ask Grandpa yourself; I'm sure you'll be glad to hear it," he replied, starting to walk away and letting his eyes roam on me once more. "See you in five minutes, _cousin_…"

My need to throw up was almost unbearable.

I started to look for the girls, but they were nowhere to be found. I walked across the dancefloor hoping to find them there, but I had no luck either… I wholeheartedly regretted to have brought them here. I knew they needed to relax and have a good time after all the pain they had gone through in the last months, but this had been definitely the worst idea I had ever, ever had, and we needed to get out of there as soon as possible.

A couple of minutes later, I finally spotted Katniss by the buffet. She was still with Peeta, who was all worked up over a pink cupcake, as if he was trying to explain her something about the frosting and she wasn't getting it. At some point she burst out in laughter and he followed after in matter of seconds, and I couldn't help but mentally thanked the boy for that. I had been trying to get that reaction from Katniss since she and her sister came to stay in my apartment, and the fact that he could do it in no time gave me hope to think he probably wasn't the same as his brother.

I took a deep breath as I looked to the main door of the Presidential Palace. They were waiting for me in there… They were going to eat me alive, riddling me with questions about how awful my life was out of the mothership or simply making me feel exactly like they did before I left…

I suddenly understood what Haymitch had said about being extremely coward and equally brave to kill yourself. _This_ was my suicide; I knew it the moment I opened the letter, and at that moment I branded it extremely coward not to attend, even when I wasn't planning on it. Now that I was here, I guessed it was time to be brave, so I climbed the doorsteps and slowly made my way to the dining room.

_**A/N:**__ Hey guys! First off, I'm sorry I'm a little late. I usually update every six days, but this few last ones have been crazy, so I just finished writing this chapter. I hope you like it anyway; it's a really important part of the plot, but feel free to tell me if you don't. I would really appreciate it.  
__As always, thank you so much for reading and don't forget to take your free hug and big, fat lot of love!  
__X's and O's,  
__Liv :)_


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

I didn't know how important was this family meeting, and to be honest, I wasn't that interested on attending to it, so I allowed myself to wander a little. It felt like if those seven or eight years had not passed at all: every single thing in that big house was in the exact same position than the last time I was in there. They hadn't even changed the curtains, which, for Capitol standards – and I'm pretty sure for any District standard too-, were hideous.

I walked down the hall to the dining room as slowly as my feet allowed, admiring the paintings on the wall. The first ten or twelve of them showed the greatness my grandfather had "brought" to the City when he assumed his position: new buildings, new streets, new political connections… anything that could state that President Snow was the best thing that ever happened to Panem. My finger traveled unconsciously and retraced a flag in one picture of the Capitol square, only to find no sign of actual _paint_.

I got closer to the picture and ran my palm across the canvas: smooth and soft.

_Framed posters?_ I should have supposed that; Snow was the kind of man who spends his money on important stuff like political campaigns and subtle ways to scare people in order to avoid any sort of uprising, not in genuine art or makeovers for the house. And apparently, he was also lazy; he was wealthy enough to go pay some artist in dire financial needs to paint something to hang in the wall and avoid that someone discovers his phony façade of a refined guy…

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The sudden female voice coming from the end of the hall startled me.

I turned and smiled guiltily. The woman smiled back and started to walk towards me. She couldn't be older than Katniss, and by her rather plain green dress and the simple updo of her natural red hair, I could tell she wasn't from the Capitol either.

"Shame it's a poster…" I answered, when she got to stand next to me.

"Are you lost too?" she asked, inspecting the picture as I was doing it a second ago.

"No, I'm on my way to a meeting. I was just… remembering old times."

She looked at me for a moment and then smiled wider.

"You're Finnick's cousin!" she exclaimed, amused.

_How did she know that?_

"Yes, I am," I said, confused, and I offered her my hand. "My name is Euphemia, but I guess you already know that?"

She chuckled and shook my hand.

"I'm Annie, Finnick's girlfriend," she said. _Girlfriend, huh? And half an hour ago he was trying to kiss my neck…_

"It's really nice to meet you, Annie. Are you enjoying the party?"

"I was before I walked in here and got lost… It's a very big house…"

She gave me the impression of being amazed by everything and distracted by everything at the same time, somewhat easy to control. _No wonder why Finnick's with her…_

"You've never been here before?" I asked.

"No. Have you? You don't sound like them…" Annie replied.

"That's because I live in Seven now and I lost my accent…"

"That's good. I have to hold back my laugh when Finnick talks to me… He sounds funny…"

Truer words had never been spoken.

"Where are you from, anyway?" I said, starting to walk to the dining room again.

"Four. I live on the beach. My dad is a fisher," she started.

"That sound like fun…"

"It is! He lets me to choose the baits and put them on the hooks…"

Annie went on telling me about her fishing adventures as we walked through the hall. It was like talking with a kid; it reminded me of when Deen made me babysit four-year-old Katniss and newborn Prim while he went to the jewelry store to buy Meg the ring I had suggested for that year's anniversary present, and I had to listen to the girl babble about nonsense for a whole afternoon…

When we got to the other end of the hall, the double door of the dining room opened with a shriek. The expression in Finnick's face when he saw Annie and me was priceless.

"Annie, darling… What are you doing here?" He said, in the sweetest voice I've ever heard coming from him, and then turned to me. "We've been waiting for you an awful lot of time, Euphemia. I hope your life in the district hasn't turned you into a rude mess too…"

"Oh, no, no, she was with me!" Annie hurried to say in my defense. "She was showing me that poster over there…"

Finnick's eyes darted from her to me, and I cocked my head in an innocence gesture.

"Let's… get you a drink, dear…" He said, passing an arm over the girl's shoulders.

"Oh, you could come to Four one day and go fishing with us, right Finn?" Annie said, smiling at him.

"Sure, honey. Well, only if Euphemia wants to, of course…"

He shot me a glare that said "Don't you dare."

"I would love to, Annie. Thank you," I replied, and that earned me another glare from my dear cousin.

They turned to the hall and I took a deep breath to build a decent amount of strength to face whatever was about to happen in that room.

First thing I saw when I turned around were Snow's eyes on me.

"I'm glad you could make it, Euphemia," he said.

"Well," I answered. "You can't just turn down an official invite from the President himself, can you?"

Then my eyes registered the other people in the room: they were all sitting at the giant table, Snow in the head spot, Alma and Peeta at his right and Cinna at his left, lightly smiling at me. I didn't hesitate and took the place at his side.

"How you doing?" He asked in a whisper.

"Yeah…" I sighed quietly. "I've been better…"

"That makes two of us…"

I smiled at him.

"How was the trip from Seven, dear?" Alma said, looking at me with her perfectly fake concerned eyes.

"It was alright, thank you, but you don't have to pretend this is a normal family reunion where everybody cares for one another… It's really not worth it," I replied, already tired of the act that would follow.

She raised both eyebrows in shock.

"I was just trying to be nice, but that always has and always will be a hard thing to do with you, right? All the more so now that you live in some uncivilized place in the woods…"

"Yeah, you should come and see the snakes around my cabin… I'm sure they'd like to meet one of their species…"

"Guys, please, is this really necessary?" Peeta interrupted us.

I kept glaring at his mother for a second, then looked quickly at him and felt my face soften.

"Of course not. At any rate, this is a pure waste of energy, right?" I said.

"Thank you," the boy said, in a surprisingly severe tone that didn't match his sweet appearance. "It's been a very good tonight so far and I don't want you to ruin it with one of your fights…"

I understood what he had meant by that, and a smile tugged at my lips. Peeta noticed, and his cheeks went crimson.

"Alright, let's get this over with," Finnick said, closing the doors behind him and taking a seat beside his mother. He shot me another glare – it surprised me how many glares I had been getting in less than an hour – and then nodded to Snow: "The word's yours, Grandpa…"

Snow looked at every one of us, his eyes lingering on me for longer than necessary, and then solemnly bowed his head.

"Alright then…" he started. "First of all, I would like to thank to all of you for being here tonight; it really means a lot to me. I will not bore you with the long version of this, so… I'm dying."

After that, the silence took over dining room. By the expression on everyone's faces, I guessed nobody saw that one coming…

To be honest, neither did I. Coriolanus Snow dying? That was pretty unbelievable. The man had reached ninety without any sign of senescence, which was almost a miracle given that Panem's medical records stated that mental sickness in aging people was more and more common each year. That single fact also fed the rumors of Snow's immortality, and that combined with his apparently flawless government, had turned him in a living legend… So in short, this news was a bucket of cold water on the head not just for the Snow family, but for the entire country.

"If this is one of your jokes, Dad, it's not funny at all…" Alma said, with a somewhat martial tone.

"It's not a joke, dear," Snow replied, suddenly kind of sad. "I was diagnosed with stomach cancer last week. The doctor said it would be better that I quit my position and… spend my last days in peace…"

I saw Alma's face changing from worried to furious.

"And you neglected to tell me that right away?" she shouted, getting up from her chair and slamming a fist on the table. "That's not the kind of thing you just keep to yourself, Dad!"

"Calm down, Mom, Come here, sit down…" Peeta stood too and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, trying to make her sit back down.

Some tears started to form in Alma's eyes.

"How long?" Her voice sounded like a thread about to cut.

"I'm already in the metastases phase, so they didn't know for sure," Snow answered. "It could be six month, or a year… Maybe just two weeks…"

Alma closed her eyes in exasperation.

"How are you feeling?" Peeta's tiny voice asked.

"It depends on the day…" Snow patted the boy's forearm, as if appreciating the tone of the question, and suddenly he looked older. "There are mornings when I wake up with a giant amount of energy in my veins, urging me to do things… There are others when I have to bribe myself with the prospect of a new era of chaos in Panem just to get out of the bed…"

"Is it painful?" Finnick said.

"Not as I thought it would be. Maybe that's because the cancer has already made its way through all my body now, but my current health condition doesn't worry me as much as thinking of what I am going to do before the death comes for me…"

"You're not considering the doctor's suggestion, right, Dad? Leaving your charge at this point is outright crazy…" Alma said.

"In fact, dear, that is exactly why I asked all of you to come here tonight."

"I guess we're done with worrying over our grandfather's imminent death, then…" I whispered to Cinna, and he gave a squeeze to my hand as he suppressed a laugh.

"So you _are_ thinking about it…" Finnick said.

"Did you not hear me say it's crazy, Dad?" By her warning tone, I thought that little episode Alma had had a minute before was about to come back.

"Mom…" Peeta attempted to placate her.

"It is either that or me dying halfway in a speech in national television, Alma," Snow said, and for the first time in my entire adult life, I thought he was right.

Ill Snow was actually a good thing in terms of publicity; it made him look vulnerable, human, close to the people. Dead Snow… wasn't very good. He and his family could think that he was the best thing that ever happened to Panem, but truth was he had equal number of friends and enemies in the country, and his death could easily mean either a national mourn or an uprising of those who still thought democracy was the best policy, even when they had lived the last fifty or sixty years under Snow's oppressor hand.

"So what, you want to give a press conference to inform the people you are dying or something?" she went on.

"Mom…" Peeta tried again.

"What? He wants to quit? Let's do things right, then. Who will replace you until the next election, huh? Have you thought of that?"

"As a matter of fact, yes, I have" Snow replied. "And as I can't seem to find it easy to decide, I'm asking for _your_ advice, and your sons' and nephews' as well…"

I couldn't help but snort, and all eyes were on me because of that.

"Oh, I'm sorry," I said, faking a smile. "I just find it funny that you want _me_ to be part of this decision…"

"You're part of the family, Euphemia…" Snow replied, as if it was enough to convince me of that fact.

"Am I, now?"

He narrowed his eyes at me, and I felt another squeeze in my hand from Cinna.

"Yes, you _are_," Snow said, dragging the last word. "And so was your mother, so if you're not going to do it for yourself, do it for her."

"I didn't know she was this concerned by politics…"

"She wasn't," Alma said, somehow irritated for our argument, and then spoke to Snow. "Look, Dad, if she doesn't want to be here, let her go. I believe she will support any decision we make here, will you, Euphemia?"

"Of course I will, Aunt Alma." I smiled at her in the way I knew she hated, and kept talking as I got up from my chair. "Although… I'm not saying that you'll actually do it, but if you decide it would be me who should take his place at the presidency, don't count on it. I'm not interested."

I bowed my head at Snow, winked at Cinna and started walking to the door.

"You know," Alma said, making me stop and turn around to face her, "that's exactly what your mother said when Dad offered her the possibility to get rid of you when she came and told him she was pregnant… _I'm not interested_…"

My eyes darted to Snow, who didn't make any expression at his daughter's statement.

"Yeah, well," I replied, swallowing the anger that had taken over my body to avoid committing one or two murders right there and right then, "I'm pretty sure the people of Panem will do perfectly fine without me in charge… I mean, if I did fine while growing up without your help, why can't they?"

I ran so fast to get away from that room that I didn't ever heard the doors closing behind me when I left.

How I managed to find an empty bathroom in that ginormous place full of people, I didn't know, but about ten minutes later, I came back to my senses and found myself locked in a cabin, sitting on the toilet and crying even more than when Deen died. My make-up was spread in my palms and my entire body was shaking from the meltdown.

I didn't know why I was reacting so strongly to Alma's words. Yes, I knew I was never wanted in the family, and yes, I knew my mother had to raise me all by herself and that hadn't been exactly downhill. I also knew that Alma had never been particularly pleased by my existence because I took away from her a chance to give Snow his first grandchild and, with that, become his favorite daughter and enjoy all the privileges it could bring, but… I never cried like this because of her or Snow's snubs. Anybody's snubs, really. I was too used to them to let them get any close.

_That's exactly what your mother said when Dad offered her the possibility to get rid of you_.

So my mother tried, in fact, to take the Favorite Daughter's Scepter by telling him I was on the way, but he had denied it to her because of my origins… And even though she probably knew he never would, she still convinced me to try and make him love me anyway… And I had spent the first twenty two years of my life working on it without knowing it would never be worth it…

The doubt suddenly popped in my head. Alma hated me because I took her sick dream away from her… Was that same dream my mother's? Was _this_ her way to punish me for doing the exact same thing to her? Was _this_ why she never told me about my father being from a district, so I didn't suspect anything and kept trying to get to Snow's heart?

_Don't be stupid_, logic scolded me. _She would never let you go through what she had to; people who love their children don't do that to them. That's sick_. Well, she did say she loved me more than anything in the world, but… Now that I had figured everything out … _Did she_?

A knock in the bathroom's door made me snap out of my thoughts.

"It's taken!" I shouted immediately, trying unsuccessfully to make my voice sound steadier that it actually was at that second.

"Effie?" Katniss' voice replied from outside. "You okay?"

_Damn it_.

"Yes, Kat, I'm fine…" I said, quickly getting up and rushing to the sink.

"You sure?" she asked, and I could hear the incredulous yet ready-to-kill-someone frown on her face.

"Yes, dear, don't worry… I think there's another bathroom at the end of the hallway…"

I checked my face in the mirror. _Well, that's a mess_, my mind stated, when the woman with the mascara stains in the cheeks and the lipstick all over the chin looked back at me.

"Yeah, I guess… Are you gonna be okay?" Kat said, evidently calmer than before but still not wanting to leave me there alone.

"I will…"

I heard her quick steps go away, and washed my face as fast as I could, trying to erase any trace of crying in the process. I didn't completely succeed, though; when I looked in the mirror again, I saw a deeply sad, somehow younger and some might say that a prettier version of me. And that wasn't good at all. That was the Effie that remained on my face after every time I cried, and everybody who prided themselves on knowing me were perfectly aware that that face meant that something or someone had hurt me, because I never cry otherwise.

For the first time – and the only one ever –, I was relieved that Deen wasn't there. He would have burst out in questions about who had done this to me to go and find them so he could kill them with his own hands. Katniss, on the other hand, was more like the shy type. She was pretty brave, sure, and she could go showing off her braveness all she wanted, but she didn't like to get in trouble, let alone when they weren't _her_ problems.

So armed with that knowledge, I smiled to my reflection and got ready to pretend that nothing had happened, even though the only thing I wanted to do after that lovely meeting with my lovely family was get out of that damned place as soon as possible. _You're doing it for the kids_, I reminded myself as I got to the dancefloor and more precisely to the open bar. I was so focused in walk away from the palace that I didn't care about the people waltzing in front of me until I crashed against someone's chest.

"Are you alright, miss?" The chest's owner asked, wrapping his arms around my waist to stop me from falling.

"Oh God, I'm so sorry, sir… I didn't mean to…" I blurted out an apology, and when I saw Haymitch's startled eyes in front of me and the realization falling on them, I frowned. "What are you doing here?"

"Same as you, sweetheart," he replied. "Enjoying the most important party of the year…"

I pulled away but he didn't let go of me. Instead, he helped me up and took my hand into a dance position, just in time for the singer to start singing a slow song.

"May I?" he asked, and I swallowed awkwardly.

"Actually, I was on my way to find the girls…" I refused politely, pulling away again only to feel the tightening of his grip on my waist.

It took me two seconds to notice the new haircut and the trimmed stubble. I used almost all my mental effort to suppress any appreciative thought about them or the way they suited or not his features.

"Ha-have you seen them?" I stammered.

"Katniss is on the balcony with Baby Snow, and Prim found some other girls her age and they're running here and there… I wouldn't worry about them" Haymitch said, rising a challenging eyebrow and already starting to sway. He waited until I slightly relaxed to hold me closer. "I would keep an eye on that guy over there, though…" he whispered to my ear, and a warning shiver ran down my spine. "He's been following you all night…"

"Who?" I whispered back, and he turned us around to let me see the buffet.

"By the corner of the table, standing two steps away from Finnick…"

I lifted my sight and spotted Seneca right where Haymitch indicated. The breath hitched in my throat when he raised his glass to me and nodded his head with a grin I knew too well…

I released Haymitch's hand and slowly put both arms around his neck. As if on cue, he placed his free hand on my waist too.

"When was the first time you saw him following me?" I asked, speaking to his ear as I faked my best smile for Seneca to see.

"You know him?" he said, smirking and pulling away enough to look at me but not enough for our faces to part completely.

"Yes…" I said, running my hands on his hair in a gesture very, _very_ romantic.

I was about to explain the whole situation to him when a loud – louder than the music –, frightening female shriek interrupted me.

Nobody made a single move. The band stopped playing, the people stopped dancing, the air turned thick in the dance floor and everybody looked at the palace.

Somewhere in my peripheral range of vision, I saw Finnick bolted for the front door of the building as his voice cut the silence that had fallen upon the rest of us.

"Annie..."

* * *

_**A/N:** I'm baaaaaaaack! Wow, it's been too long, guys. The past two weeks have been a total nightmare of deadlines to meet in college… But I'm back. I'm back and as an apology to those who have been waiting for an update (a.k.a. you), I brought not just a brand new chapter, but the longest I've written so far! I hope you liked it :) Tell me what you think in a review!_  
_Thank you so much for reading and for waiting this long. Your big, fat love of love is even bigger and fatter today ;)_  
_Love,_  
_Liv :)_


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

After Finnick made the first move, everything went wild. Everyone on the dancefloor started to run towards the Palace and a general "Oh, my God, what is happening?" filled the air. I don't know exactly how I got through that wall of people; it had been probably the crowd itself that had dragged me over there or maybe it had been Haymitch and the flashing of his badge as he pulled me forward and told everybody to step out of our way.

He didn't release my hand when we got into the building, and made me follow him through several hallways before we reached Finnick.

"Annie, come here… Get away from that sink…" he said, surprisingly calm, stretching out an arm to a very shocked and panicked Annie who was standing by the sink, shaking, her sight still fixed in the open cabin next to it. "Annie, look at me… It's okay, I'm right here…" She looked at him with glassy eyes and he smiled at her. "It's alright, dear; get away from that sink…"

She gave another horrified look to the inside of the cabin and then ran to Finnick, burying her head in his chest as he wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.

Haymitch and I exchanged a look. He took Finnick and Annie out of the bathroom, explaining quickly who he was and that we would take care of the situation, and I walked slowly to the cabin.

The last time I had been on the field hadn't been a pleasant experience: a gang had murdered and sliced off a twenty-something-year-old guy who had deserted from them, and had been leaving clues – most of them were parts of the same corpse – all over the neighborhood as a threat to anyone who dared either back down too or get against them. So, when I heard Annie's first reaction, I had expected to find something really macabre or disgusting in there. A lot of blood, at least…

The woman lying on the floor was a relieving sight. Kind of.

She was sprawled on her left side, her face looking to the front with a terrified expression drawn on her features; her eyes were red, her lips were almost blue and her arms were spread all over the cabin like she had been thrown there like a dirty cloth. There was a shadow of purple – or maybe a very dark red, one couldn't tell for sure – on the skin of her arms and her neck, and a tiny thread of blood was falling from her nose and starting to pool on the floor.

"What we got?" Haymitch asked, when he came back.

"Female, black, late twenties; no purse or wallet, thus no ID," I replied.

"Hum… Capitol or District?"

That was a good question. If she was a District citizen, we could immediately start the investigation without asking for permission. That was one of the only perks I could see on Snow's management: _what comes from the Districts stays in the Districts_. Maybe it wasn't applicable to resources and labor, but when it came to solve crimes, any place out of the Capitol was _our_ jurisdiction.

I looked at the woman again and sighed. Her dress screamed Capitol: made of white taffeta and black lace, it embraced the woman like a second skin from cleavage to waist, and then fell in a waterfall of fabric to the floor...

"Cinna…" I whispered, my fingers itching to touch the dress and confirm my suspicion.

"What?" Haymitch said, looking up.

"I think I've worn this dress before…" I stated.

"Okay…" He narrowed his eyes at me.

"Don't look at me like that," I frowned. "I _have_ worn this dress, I'm sure. Cinna made it for me."

"Cinna?" he chuckled. "As in the internationally famous stylist, that Cinna?"

"Yes, _that_ Cinna. He's my cousin, and he probably knows who this woman is…"

He raised both eyebrows, dumbfounded.

"Your cousin?" he asked.

"If he knows her, she's probably from the Capitol…" I went on, deliberately ignoring his question.

"Or she's maybe some model from One or Two… Or maybe she just bought the dress and we're right at where we started…"

"That's not possible. Cinna's work is personal; he either made this for her or gave her the one he made for me…"

"Okay, good… Why don't you go find him and I call for back up?" He took his phone out of his pocket. "And later you explain me the whole 'cousin' situation, perhaps?"

I took a deep breath.

"I don't feel like doing that right now…" I said, smiling and trying to keep my voice steady, and then waved to the dead woman lying on the floor. "And at any rate, I don't think _this_ is a very good moment to play some get-to-know-me games…"

"Fair enough," he nodded as I started to walk to the bathroom door.

"Especially when you shouldn't even _be_ here…" I stopped, remembering that fact. "How did you manage to get in, anyway? You need an invitation…"

"I said I was your 'plus one'."

"I didn't get…"

"They don't know that."

I recalled the envelope and the invitation itself being addressed to Euphemia _Snow_, and I could actually feel the blood leaving my face.

"But Euphemia Trinket wasn't even on the list…" I whispered.

"And if you could explain me that too, that'd be great. But, if anyone asks, we eloped last month and now you're using my last name…"

"So you're Haymitch Trinket now?" I snorted.

"Not something I'm proud of, sweetheart. Sounds ridiculous."

I walked back to him.

"What are you doing here, Haymitch?" I asked. "And don't tell me you're here for the _fun_…"

He raised one eyebrow again and waved to the corpse.

"Right, not a good moment for that…" I said and tracked back to the door. "You're not out of this, you know…"

"Neither are you, sweetheart," Haymitch replied, smirking at me and dialing some numbers in his phone.

I stepped out of the bathroom and found myself surrounded for what felt like all the people of Panem. _Good luck finding Cinna_, my mind mocked and I straightened up.

"Alright, everybody, moving on. There's nothing to see here…" I shouted as calmly as I could and tried to guide the bunch of people out of the hallway.

"What happened in there?" a woman – that sounded like an eighty-year old – asked from somewhere in the crowd.

"Nothing of your immediate concern, ma'am. I suggest you all go home now and stay safe."

"Someone just died, is that it?"

"Oh, my goodness, did someone die?"

"Who is it?"

The questions burst from everywhere.

"I can't give you any information, sir. Please, step aside…" I said, slightly pushing a guy back to the front door.

It took me almost fifteen minutes and the help of at least twenty waiters to get all the people out of the building. When that was done, I walked back to the dining room, just hoping Cinna or any other member of the family was still there.

"Effie!" I heard Katniss' voice call me before I got in.

I turned around, and she and Peeta ran to me.

"What happened?" she asked, when they got closer.

"Minor emergency in the bathroom," I lied, hugging both kids. "Are you alright?" And more to the point: "Where have you been?"

"Katniss was helping me find my mother." Peeta explained. "I haven't seen her since we all left the dining room. Have you?"

"No," I replied. "I went straight to the dancefloor to look for you…" I looked at the girl and my eyes flickered down to their holding hands. "Where's Prim?"

Kat noticed my gesture and her cheeks went crimson before she slowly and 'casually' released the boy's hand.

"I don't know," she said. "One second I saw her taking some food from the buffet and the other she was gone…"

"Haymitch said he saw her running here and there with other girls," I said. "Maybe she's still with them and we can find the whole group…"

"Haymitch?" She frowned. "What's Haymitch even doing here? I thought you needed some sort of invitation or something to get in…"

"He said he came with me."

The frown in Katniss' eyebrows deepened.

"Are you two…?" she asked and trailed off.

"What? No!" I almost shouted in shock when I mentally completed her sentence. "Of course not. Me and Haymitch? God, no… He just said that to the guards so they let him in…"

"Why?" She made a face.

"Maybe he'll answer that to you. I had no luck when I tried…" I put my hands in both kids' shoulders and guided them inside the dining room. "Let's go find your mom, Peeta. And maybe we'll get Cinna in the process…"

"You know Cinna Barrett?" Katniss asked. At this pace, that frown in her eyebrows was going to be permanent.

"Of course she does, Kat; he's our cousin," Peeta chuckled, impressed by the fact that the girl didn't know the obviousness of her question.

"_Our_ cousin?" She stopped short. "So you two are family, then…"

"Yeah. She's my eldest cousin and the only female one, too."

"You're a Snow?" Kat asked me, surprise and a little anger written all over her face.

"Technically, yes," I nodded slowly. "It's a long story and now is not a good moment to go down that road…"

"Were you ever going to _go down that road_?"

"Of course I was, Kat!" It was a lie, I knew it was and she saw it for what it was.

"Really? When? When I graduate from college? When Prim is old enough to get married? When?"

That pissed me off.

"I don't understand why it bothers you so much, Katniss," I said, dryly. "After all, Peeta is a Snow too and I don't see you barking at him…"

"Well, at least he hasn't lived with me for the last two months without telling me he's the grandchild of the guy who tried to kill my parents twice!" She shook off my hand from her shoulder. I hadn't even realized how strongly I was gripping at it until I saw my fingers marked in her tanned skin.

"Wait, what?" I said. "Snow tried to…?"

"We should have stayed with Chaff…" Katniss threw a poisonous look at me and stormed out the room without saying another word.

"Katniss…" I sighed, following her with my eyes.

_Snow tried to kill her parents. Twice. _Why didn't that surprise me?_ Oh, yeah: because that's what he does_, my mind answered. He tried to get rid of me when he knew about me; I was a flaw on his plan, whatever it was. But, what did Deen and Meg do to unleash his wrath? And why was I only finding about it _now_? I thought when I told Deen my whole story and he told me his own, he had actually _told me his whole story_, not only the parts where my family wasn't involved in…

That one was going to be a long and painful conversation Katniss and I would have. It almost made me not want to go back home for a second.

"I guess that's it for us, then…" Peeta whispered, and the deep sadness creeping up his voice made me snap out of my thoughts.

I turned to him and I felt my heart breaking at his defeated expression.

"Don't think about it, dear. She's upset, that's all. She'll get over it," I said as sweetly as I could. "Come on, let's find your mom."

We looked for Alma everywhere. Literally: every hallway, every room and every balcony, but she was nowhere to be found. Peeta was getting more and more worried and, when we reached the third floor of the building, I started to fear that we would find her in a bathroom cabin, dead just like the woman downstairs. I hoped not – because, even when my relationship with my dear aunt wasn't exactly hunky-dory, I didn't want Peeta to be an orphan too – but it was a distinct possibility.

At some point, 'worried' wasn't enough to cover Peeta's emotional state. He was outright freaking out.

"Alright, so she's not in her room, she's not in her office, she's not in the kitchen… She's gotta be somewhere, right? Where is she? Where is she, Effie?" he squeaked.

"Where is who?" Cinna said, walking into the nth room we were combing.

"Cinna! Have you seen my mom?" Peeta launched himself at him. "I haven't seen her since the meeting with Grandpa. Effie is helping me find her but…"

"Hey, kiddo…" Cinna took the boy by his arms. "First, calm down, okay?" Peeta breathed a little more easily. "Alright. I haven't seen her. Where did _you_ see her the last time?"

"In the dining room, before I left. No one has seen her after that."

"Did you go to her bedroom? Maybe she's taking a nap…"

"We did," I said. "She's not there either and apparently she's nowhere else…"

"Did you check Snow's room?"

Peeta and I exchanged a look.

"No," we answered in unison.

"Let's go there, then…" Cinna nudged us towards the door. "Maybe in the way there we can find Portia…"

"Who's Portia?" Peeta asked.

"My girlfriend… By the way, have you seen _her_? She arrived with me but we parted when I got into the meeting with Snow…"

"I can't say I have… I never met her so I don't know what she looks like…"

"She's as tall as me, dark skin, very slim, the most beautiful face you've ever seen…" He smiled sheepishly. "I'm sorry, that doesn't help… Oh, she's wearing a dress just like the one I made for you, Effie, remember? The black and white, taffeta and lace one that I asked you to model for that event in Two? I showed it to her once and she loved it, so I made a replica for her…"

I stopped right there. I turned around and stared at Cinna with wide eyes.

"Are you alright?" he asked as he put both hands on my waist, and I supposed I looked like I was going to faint.

"Yes…" I whispered. "And I need you to come with me…"

"Sure, let's go to Snow's room and then…"

"No, this can't wait… Peeta, you go to Snow's room."

"What? You're not coming?" the boy said, surprised.

"No, I have to… show something to Cinna first. Go."

Peeta nodded and flew to Snow's room as I took Cinna's hand and dragged him with me to the stairway.

"Okay, what's going on?" he asked, once Peeta was out of earshot.

"I found Portia," I said, without stop walking.

"What? Where is she?"

I looked back at him and took a deep breath. There was no easy way to deliver that kind of news…

I didn't need to speak, though: as soon as he read my look, his own eyes filled with tears and he froze completely.

"She's…?" he said, his voice cracking.

I just nodded.

"The scream…?" he went on, his jaw trembling.

"That was Annie, Finnick's girlfriend," I said, squeezing his hand hard. "She found her in the bathroom floor."

Before I could say anything else, Cinna started desperately running down the stairs. I followed him as quickly as my legs allowed, and when we reached the first floor and he couldn't go on – he didn't know which bathroom I was talking about in the first place – I took his hand again and pulled him slowly towards the door.

Just in that second, Haymitch got out of there and looked at us, and as if on cue Cinna started running again. He pushed Haymitch out of his way and ran into the bathroom.

To be honest, for the next five minutes I felt like I was in one of those old cop movies that my mom used to watch after she had sent me to bed and she supposed I never sneaked in to watch. When Haymitch and I got to the door, Cinna was kneeling on the floor, hugging Portia's corpse with all his strength and sobbing sweet nothings to her ear.

Haymitch walked in and approached him, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Go away!" Cinna shouted, wriggling off of Haymitch's grip. "Leave me alone!"

"The cops are going to come and they're gonna kick you out anyway, so you better do it the easy way now, Cinna…" Haymitch took him from the armpit and tried to lift him up. "Come on, man, get up…"

If possible, Cinna clenched Portia even closer.

"I'm not leaving her here! Let go of me!" he screamed again.

As Haymitch had just said, three men wearing Capitol Police uniforms stepped in right then. One of them took Haymitch away from Cinna and the other two tried to coax him to let go of Portia. As Cinna wouldn't listen, they extricated him from her by using their brute force.

Cinna shouted at the cops and tried to release himself from them without any success. I – stupidly, I realized later – tried to placate him putting myself between him and Portia and my hands on his chest.

"Let go, Cinna," I whispered at him. "She's not going anywhere, just calm down…"

"Miss, stay out of this…" one of the cops told me.

"Calm down," I kept going.

He looked at me with heavy, glassy eyes and relaxed a little. The cops slightly loosened their grip on him.

"Miss, please, step aside…" the cop said.

"You heard him," Cinna shouted suddenly. "Get out of my way!"

Next thing I knew, my right arm and head slammed on the left wall and he was clinging at Portia again. The cops took him away from her once more and then out of the bathroom, him crying and cursing all the way out.

"You okay?" Haymitch asked me, when he helped me up from the floor.

"Yes. I hoped he hadn't messed up the scene too much…" I said, rubbing my head.

"He didn't," the third cop said, outstretching his hand to me. "Beetee Latier, CPD coroner."

"Effie Trinket, DSPD" I replied, shaking his hand.

"From what I see, this woman was poisoned with cyanide. A pretty amateur way to kill, I would say; I've seen a million times worse."

"We all have," Haymitch said, inspecting my already bruising arm.

"I'm fine, I'm fine…" I said, exasperated by his sudden concern, and then addressed to Beetee. "So she wasn't actually killed right here…"

"At least, I don't think so," he answered. "We'll see if she got here by herself or if her murderer brought her here before or after she died, and if we can get some DNA from the corpse. I suggest you go and check that arm and head meanwhile I work on what I just said."

"See? You're not _that_ fine…" Haymitch said, taking me by the left arm and guiding me to the bathroom exit.

We were halfway to the end of the hallway when Peeta came running to us.

"I found her!" he shouted as soon as he spotted me. "I found my mom! She was… What happened to your arm?" He frowned. "Did you fall?"

Haymitch raised an eyebrow at me and smirked all smug, and I threw my _Keep Your Mouth Shut_ patented look at him.

"Sort of." I said. "Where was she?"

"Lying on the floor of Grandpa's room," the boy replied. "She said she might have eaten something that made her sick. She went upstairs to check on Grandpa and she doesn't remember anything after that. She probably fainted."

"Where is she now?"

"I took her to her room and asked a waiter to watch her while I came here to tell you." He looked at Haymitch. "I'm sorry; I don't think we've met. I'm Peeta Mellark, Effie's cousin."

"Haymitch Abernathy," he said. "DSPD; _Effie_'s partner." His smirk deepened when he pronounced my nickname. I was _so_ dead…

"Where's Cinna?" Peeta asked me.

"The cops took him out…" I answered, and then remembered I had dubbed the whole situation in the bathroom as a 'minor emergency'.

The boy startled a little.

"Cops?" he inquired. "So it wasn't exactly a _minor_ emergency in the bathroom, then…"

"Haymitch, why don't you go find Katniss and Prim, please?" I asked him.

Haymitch just nodded and walked away.

"What's going on?" Peeta said, confused.

"I need you to take me to your mother's room. I have a couple of questions to ask her," I said.

"Why? Effie, what happened?"

"Don't freak out, but a woman just died by cyanide poisoning."

"Cyanide? But…"

"I think it was intentional, but now I'm afraid someone also put some in the food to mislead. And if it's so, maybe that's what made your mother sick. She was a bit luckier than Portia, I guess, but…"

"Portia?"

I tilted my head, again trying to find a way to cushion the blow of that kind of news.

"Oh…" Peeta whispered when he understood what I was saying. "So that's why the cops… How is he doing?"

"Awfully…" I sighed.

"Is my mom in danger?"

"I don't think so, no. She'd be dead by now…"

"Okay. Let's go, then…"

He took me back upstairs to Alma's room.

"What are you doing here?" she said, when she saw my walking in.

"I came to see how you're feeling…" I replied.

"I'm perfectly fine, thank you. You can go now."

Evidently, she wasn't as fine as she claimed. She was paler than usual, there were bags under her eyes as if she hadn't slept in days and her hands were trembling. She wasn't blue or purple, though, so probably she actually got sick by eating something expired or undercooked.

"What did you eat that made you sick?" I asked, sitting on the other end of her bed.

"What do you care?" she answered coldly.

"I don't, but there's a corpse downstairs. The police said it was cyanide poisoning and I think they put some in the food too, so I need to know what you ate that made you sick. I don't want to investigate a hundred homicides overnight, and if you want me to leave as soon as possible, you'll tell me _what you ate_."

Alma stared at me for five seconds.

"Who died?" she asked as coldly as before.

"Cinna's girlfriend, Portia," I answered.

Her eyes widened.

"How is he?" she said, suddenly concerned on the topic.

"Not so good."

"Poor kid…" she sighed.

"Don't play that card on me, alright, Alma? Just tell me what you ate so I can warn people of…"

"Don't you dare warn anybody. That would be a travesty for your grandfather."

"He hasn't been my grandfather for the last seventeen years so I couldn't care less. I just want to avoid more people dying and put the one who killed Portia on jail."

She stared at me some more.

"I ate a sandwich from the plate they put on the dining table," she said at last. "That's it. Then I came up here to check on my dad and felt sick. I don't remember anything after that."

"Thank you for your collaboration," I said politely and got up.

I whispered a 'thank you' to Peeta when I turned around and then left the room.

I hadn't made it to the stairway yet when a scream very much like Annie's came from the pool surroundings and made the whole house shiver. If my theory was correct, when I got there I'd find another blue, cyanide-poisoned corpse waiting to be autopsied, so I ran down the stairs and out the Palace.

The crowd apparently never dissolved; they just moved around wherever something mildly interesting – or morbid, in this case – was happening. By the time I spotted Haymitch's head, they had already built a wall between us and made it a lot harder to get closer to him.

"Another one, I guess," he simply said, when I stood next to him.

"Where are the girls?" I asked.

"With Finnick and Annie in the dining room."

"Good."

We moved in the crowd to the front as fast as they let us. Once there, we tried to push everybody back so they gave us some space to look.

"Come on, people, I already told you to go home and stay there!" I said not-so-nicely to the eighty-year-old lady and the guy from before. "Please, stay away from the pool, ma'am…"

"Effie…" I heard Haymitch's voice as his hand grabbed my arm.

I wince at the squeeze – my right arm was _really_ sore now – and turned around.

My legs gave in and I fell. Haymitch almost didn't have the time to catch me and he ended up sort of hugging me in a very inappropriate way, but I didn't feel nor care of the propriety of his embrace. All I could feel was the pain migrating from my arm to my heart when I saw Cinna's leather jacket floating upon the water and his dead body at the bottom of the pool.

* * *

A/N: Hey, guys! For those of you thought I forgot this story... I'm back! Things are speeding up in this chapter, so I hope you liked it as much as I liked writing it (fun fact: this went on for ten and half pages and it took me, like, three hours to write it. That's a record for me, so let me know what you think of it on a review!)  
As usual, a big, fat lot of love for everyone of you and a big, really, really tight thank-you hug for reading,  
Liv :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

Next thing I knew, the girls, Haymitch and I were on a train rushing back to Seven. How we even got to the train station, I'll never know; I remember Haymitch saying something about Plutarch calling earlier and his express orders to take us back to home immediately, but the image of Cinna's corpse in the pool had shocked my brain too much to pay attention to anything else.

"So, what happened back there?" Katniss mumbled at some point, after about an hour of uncomfortable silence. "Or are you going to keep that for yourself just like you did with the truth about your origins?"

She was sitting right beside me and her hand was on the table, her fingers drumming on the surface with no particular rhythm. She tended to do that when she was upset or sad – the past two months living with her had taught me that – and it made me want to reach for it in an attempt at make her distress go away.

"I thought you were never going to talk to me again because of that…" I said without looking at her, choosing to keep my distance until I sensed she was willing to let her walls down.

"I live in your apartment and you pay for my school, I can't ignore you forever, can I?"

"Well, you've been doing a pretty good job at it for the last three hours, so…"

"Why didn't you tell me you were Snow's granddaughter?"

Haymitch's eyes fell on me and I did my best to ignore them. I knew he probably had figured out my relationship with the Snow family, but the fact that he knew for sure about it now made me feel suddenly vulnerable.

"I didn't think it was necessary…" I answered honestly.

"You didn't think…" Kat snorted bitterly. "How can it be not necessary? It's who you _are_! It's like I didn't find it necessary to state that I'm my parents' daughter now that they're dead…"

"It's not the same, Katniss…"

"Really? How?"

I looked at Haymitch then. Prim was sleeping with her head propped on his lap, so it wasn't like he could just move and leave us alone without waking her up…

I swallowed hard. I hadn't planned to have this conversation with him _and_ Katniss at the same time. In fact, I had already discarded the idea of having said conversation with Haymitch; there were too many details –gross, horrifying details, I might add – of my past I needed Kat to know for her to understand, and I wasn't completely sure I wanted Haymitch to know them too. Not yet, anyway. He had opened about Meg when she died and I really appreciated that he trusted me with that part of his life even though at the time we were pretty much a couple of strangers, but… I'm a very private person, and _this_ was a piece of personal information that I wasn't willing to share with anybody.

"It's okay," he said, suddenly, reading my mind again. It was _really_ unnerving. "You can trust me."

"Thank you…" I whispered and he smirked at me. I couldn't help but smile back.

Katniss was looking at us with suspicion, but when I cleared my throat and regained her full attention, every trace of any other emotion in her eyes turned into anger.

"You, Katniss," I started, not daring to take her hand into mine yet, "are a daughter proud of your parents, and you've got all the rights to be. Kale and Meg were great people, probably the best people I've ever known, and that need you feel to put their name in high is completely fair. It makes _me_ be proud of you for that, for refusing to forget where you come from and who brought you here, for not wanting to forget _them_… All I want to do _is_ forget. Forget all those years I spend trying to make my grandfather love me, trying to get the rest of the family to like me at least a little, trying to make them understand that I am _not_ a mistake and that I deserved to _live_ no matter the harm it could possibly bring to the family, that I didn't need to prove my worth by…"

"What are you talking about?" the girl said, frowning in confusion.

I took a deep, shaky breath and closed my eyes, trying to calm down.

"Look, I changed my name because, first of all, that was the only way to get out of there and not get killed," I went on. "You are not the only one in Panem who hates Snow, and you are not the only one who thinks that all the Snows are the exact copy of the man who gave them their last name, either. But you're probably the only one who doesn't want to exterminate us…"

"What are the other reasons?" she asked quietly.

"I changed my name because that's the only way not to remember that through my veins runs the blood of the man who tried to get rid of me as soon as he knew I was going to be born. I changed my name not to be reminded every single day that I belong to a family that did their best to outcast me at every opportunity they had. I changed my name to start anew, to make a life on my own without being related to the latest social scandal brought up by Finnick…" I had been looking down until then, but I lifted my sight to her face to deliver the last part. "I changed my name not to feel guilty every time I knew about what Snow had done to people I love… I did it hoping that someday I wouldn't feel that way anymore. After all, none of that was my fault, was it?"

Katniss averted her eyes from me, and I knew she had understood.

"Although…" I went on. "Is it crazy to think that if I hadn't done it, I could have had a say on it? That if I had remained a Snow, I could have somehow stopped him from doing anything horrible?"

"It is," Haymitch said firmly, and I gaped at him in surprise. He looked away before going on. "If it's _not_ your fault, there's no way you can stop it from happening."

"I'd like to think that's true, but I can't help but wonder…"

"He's right," Katniss interrupted me. "It is crazy… It's also crazy to think that every branch of the tree will fall and hit you in the head because one of them did, isn't it?"

I smiled a little.

"I'm sorry," she said in a sob.

I hugged her now and she started crying properly.

"It's alright," I whispered, petting her hair in an attempt to soothe her, and I felt a tear running down my own cheek. "It's alright…"

I had Katniss in my arms until she fell asleep and then I carefully moved away, letting her lying on both of our seats. Just like Haymitch did for Prim earlier, I looked for one of those blankets the train personnel kept under the tables and covered the girl with it. I gave him a little smile and made my way to the bathroom.

The mirror showed me a pale, blue-eyed woman clad in a night gown, with a giant, very dark bruise still growing in her right arm and starting to reach the shoulder. When I touched it, it hurt badly and I quietly whined at the breathtaking amount of make-up it would take to cover it, let alone the possibility of having to see a doctor if it got worse…

The knocking in the bathroom door took me out of that line of thoughts.

"Yes?" I asked, without making a move to open.

"Hey, um…" Haymitch's voice replied from the outside. "You okay?"

"Yes, I'm fine. Thank you."

"How's that arm?"

_Damn it._ I might have grunted or something, because he chuckled.

"Not so fine, huh?" he said. "You need a doctor…"

"It's nothing a little bit of make-up and some rest can't fix…" I answered, trying to convince myself of that.

"_Make-up_, right. I forgot you women fix everything with make-up… You look better without it, anyway…"

I opened the door then and frowned at him.

"When have you _ever_ seen me wearing any make-up?" I said.

"Yeah, you're very skilled at it," he smirked. "It looks impressively natural for the awful lot of cosmetic shit you put on your face, I'll give you that… But it's still there, and I'm a trained observant, remember?"

"Okay, then when have you ever seen me _without_ any make-up?"

"Aside from_ right now_, you mean?"

The annoying blush crept up my cheeks.

"I kinda get it, you know…" he went on, his eyes roaming on my face. "You blush too easily and you probably think you need to hide it, but I like you better without all that crap on…"

His eyes fell to my lips and, if possible, the crimson in my cheeks became even more red.

"Stop it," I whispered as firmly as I could.

"Stop what?" he said, his smirk deepening.

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Does it make you uncomfortable?"

"As a matter of fact, it does. It's not proper at all…"

"Okay, your _propriety, language and manners_ obsession is really annoying, so…"

"I don't have a pro-"

"Yes, you do, and you better keep it in check, sweetheart. Being a pain in the ass does nothing for a beautiful woman like you."

I mirrored his smirk in my face.

"That's the worst compliment someone has ever paid me…" I said, narrowing my eyes in fake disgust.

"Don't get too used to it," he replied, raising his eyebrows in mock warning and handing me a very cold bottle of liquor as he took a cloth from his pocket. "Apparently, there was no ice in the Capitol, and this is the best I could get here, so…" He wrapped the cloth around the bottle and put it on my sore arm, guiding my left hand to hold it in place. "That'll lessen the pain for a while…" He took off his jacket and put it on my shoulders. "There, you're freezing."

"Thank you… I never pegged you for a gentleman…" I didn't even try to hide the amusement in my voice.

"I'm not. I usually recommend booze when someone it's cold, but I don't think I can deal with a tipsy you, so…"

He didn't even give me time to retort before he spun on his heels and started to walk away.

I stayed there, idiotically smiling at the back of the man who now knew about the hardest part of my life. Except for Deen, naturally, Haymitch was the first man who hadn't run away as soon as he heard my original last name and instead had offered me a nice gesture, and the _only_ one who had said he liked me better bare-faced…

"Nice dress, by the way…" he said suddenly, stopping three steps further and turning around. "Very… pink."

I looked down at my attire. It was the last gift I had gotten from Cinna: a raspberry night gown that showed half of my back, left little to the imagination in the front, clung to my waist like a second skin and went down my legs like a waterfall to drag a little on the floor with every step.

"Thanks," I answered, my voice saddened.

"Cinna made it for you too, didn't he?" Haymitch guessed.

I just nodded, trying not to burst in tears.

"I'm…" he started again, and I could sense he was trying to find the words that would sound less pitiful. "I'm truly sorry for your loss. I know you were probably the only one left in that family who actually cared about him…"

"You know, it _frightens_ me when you do that…" I couldn't help but say, almost in a snort.

"When I do what?"

"Say exactly what I'm thinking or something related…"

"As if I was reading your mind?" he chuckled.

"Yes. You just did it again. It's horrifying…"

"Now you know how I feel when you start lecturing me about manners and stuff…"

He winked at me and resumed his walking.

I followed him a few seconds later, but when I got to our cart, Haymitch was nowhere to be found and the girls were still asleep. They woke up minutes before the trained arrived to Seven's station and, contrary to what I had expected – and frankly, been preparing myself for – they didn't ask any question related to the party and what had happened there. Katniss was a lot less tense than before, she even joked with Prim about the smallest subject and I allowed myself to think that maybe, by the time we got home, the _You're Not Who You Say You Are_ crisis would be over.

Of course, with _my_ luck, that didn't even have a shot at happening.

"Hey, look!" Johanna shouted from the end of the hall as soon as she saw me sitting in front of my desk. "It's the Capitol darling herself!"

I smiled at her and raised both hands as if granting her the point while she walked towards me.

"How was it?" she went on, wriggling her eyebrows and sitting _on_ my desk.

"Very boring, actually," I lied, leaning casually on the back of my chair and crossing my arms over my chest. "The music was too loud; the food was downright insipid… Not much to talk about…"

"Oh, yeah? 'Cause that's not what they said in the news…"

She was looking at me as if she had just caught me red handed.

"I don't see how that concerns me…" I tried.

"Cut the act, Trinket. They filmed you and Abernathy taking over the bathroom situation…" she scowled and then snorted at her own words. "That's how they dubbed it, by the way: the _bathroom situation_, as if none of us had seen a dead body before…"

The image flashed in my brain immediately and my face might have shown it, because Jo's frown deepened.

"You knew her, didn't you?" she asked. "The woman in the bathroom… They said her name was Portia something. She was no Trinket but… You two were related, right?"

I wanted to answer, and I could have if Plutarch hadn't walked in and interrupted me.

"Trinket," he said in no specific tone. "My office. _Now_."

* * *

_Phew! That was a looooong time without publishing anything, wasn't it? But I'm back, and I'll try to update on a regular basis now :)  
__Thank you guys for reading! I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!  
__And don't forget your free hug and your big fat lot of love! ;)_


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"What do you mean _suspended_?" I asked when Plutarch finished his very long and very angry speech about my visit to the Capitol. "Why?"

"_Why_?" he repeated in a huff. "I'll assume that is a rhetorical question…"

"No, it's not. I didn't do anything wrong and neither did Haymitch. We just happened to be at the right place in the right moment, and since no one else moved a finger to call the local police, we just took over the situation until they managed to arrive, that's all…"

Plutarch looked at me like I was the biggest idiot he ever talked to.

"You do remember the first thing we taught you when you got here, don't you?" he hissed.

"_What comes from the districts stays in the districts_," I recited as if it was written in the wall in huge red letters. Deen's threat of getting the phrase tattooed in my forehead if I ever broke that rule had made it pretty hard to forget. "But, again, we didn't actually do anything but call the CPD and wait for them to…"

"Oh, yeah? What about Cinna Barret? Did you or did you not let him in that bathroom and almost ruin the entire investigation by messing up the scene?"

I felt like a bucket of cold water had been dropped on my head when he said Cinna's name. For the last two days and until that moment, I hadn't even allowed my thoughts to wander near that topic mostly because doing it would mean that I had accepted his death as a definite event, and I knew in the deepest of my heart that I never will. He was the closest to a family I ever had, and knowing he wasn't there anymore was making me feel strangely alone.

"That is not how it happened…" I managed to say after a handful of painful seconds.

"You know what? It doesn't matter," Plutarch replied. "It _happened_, and that's enough of a reason for me to have you suspended from your responsibilities as a DSPD officer for at least two weeks, so please turn in your badge and gun before leaving."

"Wait a minute, why my badge and gun? You're suspending me, not _firing_ me; I get to keep my stuff with me, don't I? And what about Haymitch, anyway? Shouldn't _he_ be fired too?"

_Well, that was low_.

"You said it: not firing, just suspending," Plutarch said, lifting both hands as a sign of innocence. "Abernathy was informed about his own suspension a couple hours earlier and let me tell you: he took it a lot better that you are right now, Effie… Think of it as a vacation. You haven't had one of those in… What, two, three years? Use it to visit the family. I'm pretty sure you could use some quality time with them, all the more so now that you're bearing with the death of a loved one…"

"Haymitch told you about my relationship with Cinna, didn't he?" I said, already thinking about a subtle and polite way to teach the other guy to keep his mouth shut.

"Yes, he did, and I think you need some time out to mourn over it…"

"So let me get this straight: _there's no mourning in this business_, but you can actually kick me out of my job if _you_ think I need time to mourn…"

"No, I can suspend you when you break a rule such as interfere with a Capitol investigation, or when I think your emotional state could get in the way of your performance as a cop…"

"Right… But my partner's death doesn't beat me hard enough for it to qualify into that category, is that it?"

His expression hardened in a fraction of a second.

"Alright," he said, getting up from his chair and placing his hand on his desk for support, "I distinctly remember _you_ were the one who said you didn't need a week or two to come back to work…"

"I know, and that's why I'm here right now! I don't need any 'time out' or…"

"Maybe not then, but it's been only two months since that and you already had been in another funeral and witnessed your own cousin's body sinking in a pool. I don't know about you but I think that's too much for any woman to take in, whatever their profession is or whether they're accustomed to…"

"Oh, so it's because I'm a woman…"

"Don't get all feminist on me, Trinket. It doesn't suit you."

We stared angrily at each other for several moments.

"What did Haymitch tell you exactly?" I asked, suddenly doing the math.

Plutarch Heavensbee was a workaholic at heart and certainly not a very sensible man. When I first met him, he made it pretty clear that he didn't think there were too many good reasons for one not to do their job. He also said that in a line of work like ours, death wasn't one of those good reasons given that we Police had to deal with murder, suicide and accidents in daily basis, and that if we actually let it affect us and become a burden that prevents us from doing our jobs as we ought to, then we simply weren't cop material.

As for his particular relationship with me, he treated me exactly like he would treat anybody else in the Department. He wasn't a tyrant but demonstrated no interest in our personal lives, and he reserved the right not to go spreading details about his own. He had said once that love and friendship were just two of the quickest ways to mess up with the work, and true to his word, he didn't seem to want nor care about being friends with us, which suited me just fine: I was there _to do the job_, and if Johanna had managed to poke her way into becoming the next best thing to a friend that I had, it had happened just because she was too rude most of the time and I didn't think fighting with her over that was the best way to teach her some manners, so I befriended her and we both won.

I was aware that we didn't share that much about our personal lives, but still, if it had been _her_ the one whose argument for having me suspended was my _emotional state_, I would have probably believed it. Coming from Plutarch, though, it was outright weird.

"What do you mean _what he told me_? He didn't tell me anything…" he denied.

"Yes, well, he told you about me and Cinna, didn't he?" I said, dryly. "He could perfectly have told you about other things that can turn my emotional state into something that can get in the way of my performance as a cop."

Plutarch narrowed his eyes at the sound of his own words being echoed.

"What do _you_ think he told me?" he asked, suspicious.

"I asked first," I deadpanned.

He flashed me a knowing grin.

"I already told you," he replied calmly. "He said something about you and Cinna being very close. I lost my baby brother a few years ago and it almost made me falter in my role. I can't allow my team to do the same, so I'm suspending you to avoid it."

The brutal honesty took me completely by surprise, but I didn't let it on. Instead, I studied his face one last time. He never averted his eyes from mine as I expected; Plutarch had never been very good at lying, and if he was keeping something for himself, he'd show. Or maybe he had become a better liar within those 24 hours, I wasn't sure…

Anyway, I took my badge and my gun from my pants and put them on his desk.

"Fine, then," I said, nodding once. "I'll see you in two weeks."

I went out of Plutarch's office and straight to my desk to pick up my stuff and leave.

"Where you going so fast, love?" Chaff asked, observing me from his desk in front of mine.

"Didn't you hear?" I answered. "I'm suspended for misbehaving in the Capitol…"

He raised both eyebrows in.

"Is that so?" he teased. "I saw you and Abernathy on TV, y'know, but didn't know _that's_ what you were doin'…"

I chuckled.

"You can ask him," I said. "He will confirm what I'm saying; he's been suspended too…"

"Wait…" Jo said, coming out of nowhere. "So it's true, then? Heavensbee suspended you two?"

"Yes. Apparently, we broke Rule Number One by actually doing something when a crime is committed."

She frowned.

"That's… Weird," she said. "Last time _I _fucked up an investigation, he just gave me another warning and a whole month of doing all the paperwork…" She smirked at me. "Which I guess is not punishment enough for you since you seem to enjoy doing that shit…"

I narrowed my eyes at her and she laughed my reproach away.

"Seriously, though," she went on. "What happened?"

I sighed, trying to decide what to tell her and what not.

"We heard this frightening scream coming from the mansion," I started, hoping for my voice not to crack while I was telling the story and give away my attempt at keeping it as neutral as possible, "and when we got there, there was a dead woman in the bathroom. All we did was securing the perimeter as much as the people let us, call the CPD and wait for them to arrive, but in Plutarch's book, that counts as meddling in a Capitol investigation."

Johanna's eyes wandered on my face, searching for the lie.

"That's it?" she asked. "_That's_ why the guy is suspending you?"

I had to suppress the pull in my guts to tell her everything just as it happened. She would rip my head off when she knew I was keeping the important details for myself…

"Well, that and the fact that my cousin just died and that I've attended to a lot of funerals in the last three months… He thinks it could affect my work, so in order to avoid any mental or emotional breakdown on my part while I'm working on a case, he's kicking me out for a couple of weeks." I said in the end.

"It's… stupid," she declared. "And maybe a little too much, I gotta say… I mean, you guys just did what any of us would have done in that scene, right? And, from what you said, you didn't even touch anything, so it's not _that_ big of a deal. That last time I fucked up an investigation? You remember, right? When I…?"

"Yes, Jo, I remember. We all do," I cut her off, glancing at Chaff, who pinched the bridge of his nose and tried to hold his laughter.

I didn't need her to remind me _or_ him of the catastrophic episode in the elevator when we – Deen, Chaff, Johanna and myself - were escorting a drug dealer we had just caught to the Department, and she tried to get a confession from him by taking her clothes off and offering the guy, and I quote: "_anything_ _he wanted before getting in jail_." I remember gaping at her; Deen had looked away because the woman in front of him was a couple of years older than his own daughter, and Chaff… Well, Chaff stood there ogling her and, as he told me later, storing away the bright side of the situation.

"And I agree," I went on. "It _is_ a little too much. But even if it weren't, that other reason he gave me? What is that?"

"What, the 'I Don't Want To See You Crying Here' bullshit?" she said. "Yeah, I don't buy it either… Since when is he so concerned about how _you feel_, anyway? Like you cry that much…"

_He _did_ see me crying at Deen's funeral…_

"Or maybe it was something Abernathy said to him…" Johanna added, putting into words what I had been thinking ever since Plutarch said they had talked before I got there. "I don't know, maybe he told him about you being too affected for the death of that friend of yours… Which, by the way, I've already asked you about and you've refused to answer…"

"I haven't refused to…" I tried to argue.

"Yeah, 'cause you couldn't do it before Plutarch called you in, but I know you would, just like you do whenever I ask you about something mildly personal… See, Trinks, the way this whole friendship thing works is that you have to _share_ the deep stuff…"

"Of course, because _you_ share all the time, right?"

"I'm an open book; you just have to read me… We've worked together for six whole years, been friends for three and all I know about you is your name and your address."

"Sorry, ladies, but is this discussion ever gonna lead to a catfight? 'Cause that's one thing I'd like to see…" Chaff said.

We glared at him.

"Look," I said to Johanna, "I'm not sure this is the right time or place to have this conversation…"

"Color me shocked," she answered. "It _never_ is. You know, I wonder what it is that you want so bad to keep hidden from everybody…"

"Jo…"

"No, what is it? Did you murder someone? Are you an illegal immigrant? An international spy? Do you run a fucking crack house? What is it?"

I couldn't help a giggle. The possible answers she was offering me were frankly ridiculous.

"Really?" she snapped. "You're laughing at me now? Am I entertaining you?"

"I'm sorry," I said, lifting my hands as an apology. "I didn't know this bothered you so much…"

"Yeah, well, you know what? It shouldn't. My mistake. It's what I get for trying something I'm not good at. See you around, Trinket…"

She spun on her heels and pretty much marched to the cafeteria. I called after her but she didn't listen.

Chaff was looking at me with something akin to a reproach written all over his face.

"You want me to run after her, don't you?" I said, averting my eyes from his.

"Don't think that's very safe for you, love," he replied. "You're the one who'll have to give the first step, though. Don't wait for her to do it…"

She had given the first step when she first talked to me in a friendly fashion, after all. Maybe it _was_ something difficult for her to do and I didn't know it because I never asked anybody about their past unless it was absolutely necessary. That was my defense mechanism against having to make painful revelations about my own past and one – perhaps the most powerful – of the reasons why I had next to no friends at all. Maybe it was Johanna's too, and if it was, she probably felt as alone as I did.

There was an alarm ringing in my head that urged me to leave right in that second, so, after letting out a deep sigh, I left. When I got to my car, I propped my forehead on the handle and shut my eyes tight.

Maybe Plutarch was right. Maybe I _did_ have been through a lot lately and it was effectively clouding my brain. Maybe I _did_ need some time out to calm down and think right. Maybe I _could_ use the imposed vacation not to spend some _quality time with the family_ but to spend more time with the girls at home; they never asked for it, but I knew how close they were to their parents and, if it were me, I would like it if someone tried to compensate the loss of their warmth…

The ringing of my cellphone took me out of my thoughts. Haymitch's name blinked on the screen.

"You're suspended too, aren't ya?" he asked when I picked up.

"Yes," I answered coldly. "Apparently, my _emotional state_ is a problem when it comes to do my job properly… What did you have to do with that, I wonder?"

In the other end of the line, he chuckled.

"Oh, is it funny?" I snapped. "Because I didn't find it funny at all when my condition as a woman was used by Plutarch as a reason to doubt my capacities."

"Whoa, I never said that," he said quickly, and I could imagine him taking a step back.

"Well, you said _I could trust you_, which obviously I shouldn't have done…"

"Look, I told him that _maybe_ you were a little shocked about everything that had happened and that _maybe_ you needed a week or two to get back into your senses. That's it. He made his own conclusions. I didn't tell him anything… _personal_, okay? No need to be so pissed off about this. Besides, I thought you'd appreciate the opportunity…"

"The opportunity to what, exactly?"

"Oh, I don't know… To come here and dig deeper about what happened?"

"'Come here'? What, are you in the Capitol? That's impossible…"

"Not yet, but soon I will be. I'm on the train."

"Why?" He could probably hear my frown.

"'Cause I don't know about you, sweetheart, but I'm tired of standing in the sidelines doing absolutely nothing about a crime that has just been committed in front of my eyes. I've been doing that since I can remember, and I'm not doing it anymore."

That caught my attention.

"What are you talking about?" I asked carefully.

"It's a long story." It was a wistful sigh that sounded like he had delivered it with a shrug and more probably tried to suppress, but I heard it anyway. His voice was back to normal in a heartbeat, though. "You coming or not?"

"I can't," I replied. "The girls… I can't leave them alone."

"What about Mason? Can't she watch them?"

I winced a little.

"No, I don't think she's ever going to do me a favor again…" I said. _Not until we have _that_ talk, _if_ we ever have the talk…_

"I thought you guys were friends…" he said.

"Yes, well… We had a little bit of a quarrel earlier, so…"

"Did I miss the catfight?" I could practically _hear_ his smirk.

"It wasn't a catfight…"

"'Course not, you're too prude to show your claws…"

I know I should have felt somewhat insulted by that line, but it made me smile instead.

"How you go so fast from a concerned partner to the worst comedian I've ever known is frankly beyond me…" I said, very plainly.

"Hey," he answered in a fake warning tone, "I'm a very funny man and you've laughed at my jokes plenty of times. And I'm not _concerned_; I'm just doing what I think is right."

"What, getting me a suspension so I can go and 'dig deeper' about my cousin's and his girlfriend's death?"

"That's just the means to the main point: bringing you some peace."

"I can get some peace by myself, you know…"

"Well, I don't see you trying."

"It is not really my place…"

"Then whose place is it? 'Cause from where I see it, and I already told you this, you're the only one in that family who actually cares about this whole thing and if you don't act on it, who will?"

Haymitch might have a point. One could think that after the colossal media coverage that the President's birthday party – and with that, Portia and Cinna's deaths – had had, people would eventually start talking about it and someone from the family – Alma probably – would have to make a public appearance and comment on it, but it had been two days already and _nothing_.

"Thank you," I said after a few seconds, not really knowing what I was thanking him for.

"I'm just doing you a favor, sweetheart," he answered. "I'll collect it when I need it."

_I should have known that…_

"Call you when I gather something," he said before hanging up.

I didn't know why he was doing all this. The "I'm tired of standing in the sidelines" excuse wasn't very believable just yet – and was another thing I would have to find out about him; the man was a mystery – but thinking he was doing it out of something more than pure comradeship was way too rushed.

Still, that thought stuck in my head and put a silly smile on my face that lasted all the way back to my apartment.

* * *

_Hey, guys! So that's it for this chapter. Sorry I'm a little late, but better late than never, isn't it? I hope you enjoyed it! Oh, and leave a review!  
__Hugs and lots of love for everyone!_


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

When Katniss finally came back from school that afternoon, she found me wearing a pair of sweatpants, sitting cross-legged on the floor of the balcony in front of a bunch clay flower pots of different shapes and sizes, with a paintbrush in one hand and a small can of white paint in the other.

"What are you doing?" she asked, looking at me as if I was completely insane.

"I'm painting these flower pots!" I stated the obvious with far too much enthusiasm.

"I can see that, but why?"

"Well, I found myself in dire need of a project and gardening just popped into my head."

"Gardening…"

Yes, gardening. I had never done it before and, to be honest, I didn't know the first thing about flowers or any other plant for that matter, but that was something Katniss didn't need to know and nothing a good research in the internet couldn't easily fix.

Besides, it had been a very long, _very_ boring day. I hadn't been suspended nor unemployed in fifteen years and I don't particularly like to be lying on the couch doing nothing all day long even on the weekends, so by the time the girl arrived, I had already zapped at least four times on every TV channel, read all the magazines I kept under the coffee table, done laundry and rearranged the furniture on the living room, and even when it all was done I still felt like I was going to die of boredom if I didn't keep moving.

That was when a gardening show appeared on TV. The woman there said in a very cheerful voice that it was easy enough to do it by yourself; all you needed was some earth, some flower pots and _any flower you want to light up your home with_.

And before I could think twice about it, I was sitting on the floor and painting the pots I had just gotten from a gardening store down the street that I didn't even know was there.

"And what you wanna plant?" Kat asked, coming to sit beside me and picking up one of the already painted pots to inspect it.

"I don't know…" I replied honestly. "Roses, maybe, or tulips… I haven't really thought of that yet… I'm almost going with the lilies. They're beautiful, they smell delicious and there are a lot of colors to choose. Besides, it's the perfect time of the year to…"

"Since when do _you_ know so much about lilies?" she asked in a snort, taking off her backpack and dropping it on the couch without much elegance. "And aren't you supposed to be at work or something?"

"Why, were you going to throw a party here later and never let me know?" I joked, trying to distract her.

When she arched an inquisitive eyebrow at me, I knew I had failed miserably.

"So you're suspended," Kat went on, letting down the flower pot in her hand to pick another. "How's that going?"

"How do you know?" I asked, going for casual.

"I called to your work phone earlier to ask if you wanted me to pick up lunch on my way home and Johanna told me everything." She took the other paintbrush and dipped it in the paint can.

"Everything?"

"Yep, from you being temporarily kicked out to you and her not talking anymore."

"So _everything_, then…"

"What happened?"

"Just me and my tendency to break rules and shut everyone out..." I sighed. "Nothing you should worry about, anyway. How was school?"

"Boring as usual," she shrugged. "That Cato guy getting into a fight again and spending most of the day at the infirmary was the only highlight of the day… Prim was thrilled by that…"

That startled me a little. "What? Why?"

"She's very into this nursing and medical stuff…" Katniss explained. "Too much, I'd say… Sometimes I think she's some sort of vampire. Today the school's nurse asked her if she wanted to help the Cato guy with his injury and she almost leaped in joy at the prospect of seeing some blood. I should take a closer look to her mouth and make sure she hasn't grown fangs yet…"

I chuckled at the image of Katniss trying to open Prim's mouth and checking her teeth.

"You think she wants to pursue a career in medicine?" I asked.

"I don't know," she shook her head. "We never talk about that. And she's a little too young to start thinking about that stuff, anyway…"

"It is never too early to start thinking about what you want to do with your life. Cinna, for instance, started making dresses for my dolls at the age of four and look where he got…"

If Kat heard the lump forming in my throat, she didn't let on. I still silently thanked her for switching the subject, though.

"When did you decide to become a cop?" she asked.

"I'm not sure," I replied honestly. "When I lived in the Capitol, I wanted to be a model or a TV hostess; that's the kind of things little girls over there wish they'll be when they grow up… I did some modelling for Cinna when I was a teenager, and right before I left I was about to sign a contract to co-host Caesar Flickerman's new show…"

"Really?" She sounded somewhat impressed.

"Well, at the time I had the looks and was quite famous as a model already, so I think being the first and only granddaughter of the President just sealed the deal."

"Why didn't you take it?"

"Oh, I _did_ take it. It was my golden dream, remember? I wasn't going to let it slip away… But then I found out that… Well, my mother told me about my father being from a District and that caused a scandal of colossal proportions in the family. I lost Snow's approbation – if he ever gave me any – and had to quit the job for the sake of his public image."

Katniss just stared at me and nodded slowly.

"And then you ran away…" she said.

"Technically, I decided to take a year and travel around Panem due to the sudden identity crisis I was going through; that's what I said when I quit and what the media spread as the reason I was leaving the show," I explained, "but yes. I took the first train to Twelve the morning after."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-one, almost twenty-two…"

"And you never came back until now?"

"My mother stayed there, so I kept visiting her regularly until she died of a heart attack eight years later. After that, I had no reason to go back there, so I didn't."

Kat put down the flower pot she had just finished painting and took another one. "You lived in Twelve?"

"Yes," I answered. "I stayed with a friend's family who lived in the town."

She frowned. "You had friends from Twelve?"

"Maysilee Donner, yes. She was also a model back then. We lost contact after I moved here."

"Did you know Haymitch?"

"No, we never met."

"But he was a cop there…"

"Yes, well… I was trying to keep a low profile, you know… Trying not to rob a store or mug someone on the street so they wouldn't know I was a Snow."

"Why?"

"Fear of being murdered, I guess…"

She nodded again, probably remembering our talk on the train. "And then you came here and joined the police…"

"After I got mugged, yes… It kind of inspired me."

"You got mugged…"

I laughed at her half-shocked, half-incredulous expression.

"I know…" I said, shaking my head. "But, still… I like to think that if I hadn't been through all those, shall we say, unfortunate events, I wouldn't be sitting here with you right now…"

"You're one of those fervent fate activists, aren't you?" Katniss said, dipping the paintbrush in the can.

"Not exactly, but I do believe there's a reason for everything and everything happens for a reason."

"Dad used to say that too…"

I looked up at her and it surprised me to find that she wasn't about to cry. She was smiling, actually; a sad smile, but a smile nonetheless.

"Maybe that's where I picked it up from…" I said shrugging.

"Do you think that me wanting to become a cop is because I want to be like him?" she asked. "You think that's my reason?"

That was new, completely unexpected and I immediately put it in the metaphorical box labeled _Progresses_. Katniss wasn't one to go talking about her dreams or goals, and even if she was, I didn't think she would ever tell _me_ about them. If anyone, Prim would be the one to know that bit of information about her big sister, so Katniss trusting me with this meant the world to me.

"Maybe not the main reason but certainly a big one," I offered. "Since when do you want to join us?"

"I don't know, it popped into my head one day just like your gardening, I think…" she said, chuckling. "But I was, like, six when Dad first took me to the woods and taught me how to use a bow; he said I was great for my age, that one day I'd be a wonderful archer, and I remember thinking: 'Maybe I could use that to help you catch the bad guys'."

"Well, I'm very sure the Department would appreciate a wonderful archer in its lines…"

She looked at me with something akin to hope in her eyes and then dropped her gaze to the task at her hand with a contented smile.

"I have other skills, too, you know…" Katniss said a few moments later, letting the now white pot on the floor to take a third one. She was so obviously much better than me at this…

"You do?" I asked. "Like what?"

"I'm very good at noticing details and making the right questions about them. Or so my Dad said once."

I nodded appreciatively.

"Alright…" I said, when she didn't say anything else. "Don't leave me hanging and show me what you've got…"

Kat spared me a quick glance and straightened her spine before tilting her head a little, and that simple motion made her look just like Deen when he was about to start an interrogatory.

"Haymitch hasn't called you yet, has he?" she said, casually.

My eyebrows shot right up to my hairline. "I beg your pardon?"

"You've been watching your cellphone ever since I walked in here half an hour ago, and every thirty seconds your left nostril twitches, which means you're either frustrated or impatient. You've also got this crease on your forehead, which only appears when you're worried over something or stressed out, so I suppose this call you're waiting for must be really important…"

All I could do after that little speech was blink at her.

"Well, it _is_ a very important call," I admitted. "But I don't see what Haymitch has to do with everything…"

Katniss flashed me a smirk and let the paintbrush she was holding on the floor.

"Yeah," she said as she stood up. "I guess I have been living with you for too long if I can notice _that_ detail." She walked towards the kitchen and I heard the water running.

"what detail?" I asked, standing up too and following her.

"You know, some gestures you make when you talk with or about him…" She took a long sip from her glass of water.

"Like what?" I chuckled in amusement, before shaking my head when she offered me one.

"Like biting the inside of your cheek when you guys are talking, or biting your lip when someone brings him up in a conversation."

I froze, my mind running through every possible situation that could match Kat's description. "What was I doing now?"

"The lip thing," she answered. "that's how I figured it out. You don't usually do that."

I could feel _the crease_ forming in my forehead again. I knew about it, of course; it had appeared during my first ballet class when I was three years old and, as my mother so accurately predicted, it never left my face again. She said it would be a problem if I wanted to pursue modelling as a career, because _they do not hire women with wrinkles on their faces, Effie dear_. So by the time I started walking the runway in Cinna's dresses, I had learnt to keep the crease at bay. It would only show, as Katniss had pointed out, when I was feeling worried or stressed, or when I was too focused on something.

The lip biting thig, though… I wasn't aware of that. Or any other Haymitch-related gesture, for that matter. I didn't even know I had those…

"Impressive…" I said at last, trying to get the conversation back on track. "Quite scary, I must say, but impressive. If you ask me, I would say you're a natural and that you really should apply to the Academy one that."

Kat's face lit up. "You really think so?"

"Absolutely."

"You think it'd make him proud?"

"Are you joking? You inherited his talent; he would be leaping in joy right now!" She gave me a shy smile. "Although, he'd be proud of you no matter what you decide to do with your life, Katniss, I'm sure of it. He'd just want you to do whatever you want to do that makes you happy…"

"I know." She dropped her gaze. "We had the job talk when I turned fifteen… I just wish he were here to have it with Prim too…"

Katniss never sobbed, not once since she was living with me. And she certainly wasn't about to sob now, but when she shut her eyes and let out a heavy sigh, I instinctively wrapped my arms around her and held her tightly. She clung to me as if her life depended on it and her tears made a pool on my shoulder.

"Okay," she said, letting go of me after a few minutes. "I better go pick up Prim."

"What time did she say she would be back from her friend's house?" I asked.

"She didn't say anything." Kat snorted. "Now that she and this Hawthorne boy do everything together from homework to lunch, she tends to keep those little details to herself… But it's getting late and I don't wanna drag her home in the middle of the night."

"I can go pick her up. You haven't even eaten yet…"

"It's fine, I'm not hungry. Besides, I wouldn't make you miss a call from your beloved Haymitch…" The smirk was back on her face.

"Katniss, please, _Haymitch_ and _beloved_ do not belong in the same sentence…"

"That's not what I saw when we were on the train…" She raised an eyebrow, the smirk.

"That…" I stopped short, narrowing my eyes at her. "What did you see?"

"Nothing compromising, just him being a gentleman for once in his life and putting his jacket on your shoulders." She put on her backpack. "After he said you were _a beautiful pain in the ass_ or something equally stupid that made you beam and blush like a schoolgirl."

"I thought you slept most of the ride?"

"No, at some point I went to the bathroom and found you guys in the corridor. But don't worry; your secret is safe with me."

Katniss winked at me and walked towards the door.

"There's _no_ such a thing as a secret to…" I said, but she was already gone.

If she had seen the way he looked at me later – _much_ later – that night, though, she would have been totally convinced that there was something actually going on between me and Haymitch.

"It's three in the morning, what are you doing here?" I said in shock, when I opened the door he had been punching for almost five minutes.

His eyes wandered down my body and I suddenly realized my state of undress. I hadn't even tied the belt of my dressing gown in my hurry to keep the girls asleep and the top of my pajamas wasn't exactly doing a good job at covering the reaction of my breasts to the chilly night.

"I'm sorry to disturb your beauty sleep, sweetheart," he said, his voice gruff and eyes black. "But we have a little bit of a situation."

Haymitch stepped into my apartment purposefully not looking at me.

"Sure, why not, come in…" I muttered, following him with my head.

"You heard her, boy, come in!" he shouted as he picked a flower pot from the floor.

"Would you _please_ keep it quiet?" I hissed at him, turning to close the door. "Katniss and Prim are… Peeta?"

Peeta had stayed outside, waiting like the well-mannered young man he was to be invited in. He looked tired, worn out, older even.

"I'm truly sorry to bother you, Effie…" he whispered, giving me a weak smile. "I didn't know where else to go… May I get in?"

"Of course, of course…" I pulled him into a hug. "What happened?"

"The murder weapon was found on his bedroom," Haymitch answered.

I stared at Peeta with wide eyes. He looked away.

"_Murder_ weapon?" I said. "Peeta, what on Panem did you do?"

"He didn't do shit, he got framed." Haymitch let himself drop on the couch.

I turned to him, never letting go of the boy who was burying his head on my shoulder. "What do you mean _framed_?"

"Someone sliced Snow's throat and put the knife in the boy's closet. Rookie's move, if you ask me, but…"

My hands in Peeta's hair stilled. "What did you just say?"

"Snow's dead, sweetheart. I don't think they're gonna pay attention to Cinna's case anymore."

* * *

_It's been ages, guys, I know... I just hope I can make up for it with this chapter :)  
__Lots of love and free hugs for everybody.  
__Liv :)_


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

I put a mug of hot cocoa in front of Peeta, but at first he barely looked at it. His eyes were fixed in the pattern of the wallpaper, as if he was trying to memorize it. He suddenly seemed to notice me still standing there, staring at him, and he lifted his head and gave me a tiny smile.

"No sugar with three floating marshmallows, if memory serves me right…" I said, shaking the mug a little.

His smile widened a little. "I can't believe you remember that."

"Well, it's the best I can do in the kitchen, so…"

Peeta chuckled and took a sip. "Thank you."

"Don't mention it, dear… I'm currently out of guestrooms, but you can stay at mine for as long as you need…" I squeezed his arm in encouragement as I sat next to him.

"With the girl sleeping in the next room?" Haymitch snorted. "No fucking way."

"Language…" I hissed and glared at him.

"Oh, c'mon… Are you telling me that you mind about my _language_ more than you do about these two screwing each other out of wedlock?" He chuckled. "You amaze me, sweetheart, you really do…"

"Well, he's a gentleman, Haymitch. He would _never_ do _anything _of the sort, am I right, Peeta?"

Peeta choked on his hot cocoa.

"See?" Haymitch said, smirking. "He _would never do anything of the sort_ but he's _thinking_ about it… Trust me, Trinket, I'm a guy. I know exactly what's going on in these kids' minds and you wouldn't deem it very proper…"

"Since when do you care so much about propriety, I wonder?" I asked, my voice laced with amusement.

"I don't. I just don't want to hear you complaining about it afterwards… Besides, I already offered him my place and he accepted, so you're a little too late."

"Absolutely not. If he's staying anywhere, he's staying with _me_, not with a random stranger he just met…"

"Uh, I drove a car all the way from the Capitol. He was there and talked the entire journey to keep me awake, so I guess that makes us acquaintances at the very least… Not to mention that I practically saved him from being arrested for murder…"

"You said he got framed…" I frowned at him.

"Damn right he did, but he panicked and acted crazy and they wouldn't believe him when he claimed he was innocent…"

"Well, if he is innocent, why didn't you let the cops do their job and prove that he actually is?"

"Excuse me… _If_?" Peeta said and stared at me. "I didn't kill him…"

"I believe you, Peeta, I really do," I answered, "but you fleeing the place doesn't make it any easier for they to believe it too."

I looked pointedly at Haymitch.

"Yeah, well… Finding the weapon and covering it with your fingerprints doesn't help your case either, does it?" he said, raising his eyebrow at Peeta.

I turned to the boy and let a pitiful sigh. His gaze dropped to the mug.

"What happened?" I asked.

"I don't know…" he replied, without lifting his eyes. "I came back from school and the cops were already in the mansion. I thought they were there for Cinna, so I didn't ask anything and went straight to my room to change. The knife was in my closet… I might have screamed or something, because the next thing I knew, the cops were in my room putting cuffs in my wrists…"

"How did you find Haymitch?"

"I escaped the cops and ran downstairs. He stopped me and asked where I was going so fast…"

"Wait, you _escaped_ the cops? How did you do that?"

"He's surprisingly strong for a boy his age," Haymitch said. "He almost tackled me on his way out."

"I was freaking out and then he told me to calm down and took me to his car…" Peeta continued. "I explained everything that happened and he drove me here… I didn't do it, Effie, I swear…"

"It's okay," I said, running a soothing hand on his forearm. "I believe you."

"I don't know what's going to happen now… I touched that thing… They're going to find my fingerprints on it and I'm going to go to jail…"

A lonely tear ran down his cheek and my heart broke into a million pieces.

"It's going to be okay, dear…" I said, hugging him again, and he started crying. "Did you see your mother or your brother before you left?"

"No," Peeta sobbed into my shoulder. "Finnick was out and I suppose my mom was handling the whole situation with the cops…"

"Do you want me to call them? To let them know you're here?"

He looked at me with pained eyes and shook his head.

"It's fine, we don't have to." I went on. "Tonight you're going to stay in my room and tomorrow I'll take you to Haymitch's, is that okay with you?"

"Thank you…" he said, drying the tear on his face with the back of his hand.

"Alright then, let's go. You need to sleep."

I stood up and guide him to my room. I couldn't offer any clothes for him to change, but he wasn't in any state to mind that, so he just stripped down to his underwear and slipped under the covers.

"Are you comfortable?" I asked, tucking him in as I used to do when he was younger.

"It's still warm…" he commented with a faint smile.

I kissed him goodnight on the forehead and turned off the light. When I went back to the living room, I found Haymitch taking a long sip from his flask.

"So you drove someone's car all the way from the City, huh?" I started, sitting down on the other end of the couch.

"You make it sound as if I had stolen it…" he replied, drinking again.

"Well, technically…"

"Save it, sweetheart. It's been a long day and I'm not up for a rant right now."

I did as I was told and we stayed silent for a couple of minutes, him drinking slowly and me waiting for the right moment to talk.

"What were you doing at the Mansion?" I asked when I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Not killing your grandfather, if that's what you wanna know," he answered in a lazy voice, propping his head on the back of the couch and closing his eyes.

"It hadn't occurred to me that you could have, but it's good to know all the same."

"You're not as shaken as I thought you would be, though."

"What, you expected to see me break down and cry my eyes out for a man who I'm sure would never do the same if I were the one dead?"

"No, I actually expected you to go through a mute phase."

I narrowed my eyes at him but couldn't help the small smile tugging at my lips.

"Seriously, though…" I continued. "Why were you there?"

"I went with Latier," he said. "He wouldn't let me stay in the CPD headquarters by myself so he dragged me to the brand new crime scene."

"How did you get into the CPD headquarters? You're supposed to have an authorized ID…"

"Yeah, well… Let's say I can be very, uh… _persuasive_ when I want to."

"Please tell me you didn't knock somebody out…"

Haymitch chuckled. "No. I would've loved to, but I didn't for the sake of the mission."

_The sake of the mission…_ "Speaking of which… What did Beetee tell you?"

"Not much more than what we already know. The results for Portia's autopsy just confirmed what Latier suspected: cyanide poisoning and no fighting marks or any other injury, which means she probably felt sick, went to the bathroom on her own and died without knowing who killed her."

"What about Cinna?"

"Suicide."

I let out a deep sigh. "So we're back to square one, then…"

"That's what I thought, but then Latier brought this friend of his to investigate them and everything started to make a little more sense."

"A friend of his? You mean another officer?"

"_Hacker_ would be a more accurate term. Her name is Wiress. Very weird woman, real tech savvy."

"Does she work for the CPD too?"

"I don't think so, no… She's too weird to fit into the elite profile the CPD requires to its personnel."

I frowned. "So we're stepping on illegal field, then…"

"_We,_" he said, waving a hand at me and then at himself, as if to say 'you and I', "are not stepping anywhere. Latier and his friend are, but they've been doing this for so long I wouldn't worry about it."

"How can you be so sure they're not going to get caught this time around?"

"Because according to him, this Wiress woman is the best of her kind and has been for quite a while. I've seen it myself: in less than ten minutes she scanned Cinna and Portia's social profiles, websites, bank accounts and whatnot, and didn't even leave one trackable binary number behind. She's awesome."

"What, do you fancy her now?"

When I heard it, I wished I could take back what I just had said. It was a joke, I hadn't meant for it to sound so... _jealous_.

The smirk hanging from Haymitch's mouth wasn't reassuring at all.

"No need to get so worked up, sweetheart. I only have eyes for one woman," he said, and his eyes fell down to my legs once again.

I was never leaving my bedroom again without a good pair of sweatpants on. _Never_.

I cleared my throat in hopes the blush on my cheeks would fade away. "So what did she find?"

"Absolutely nothing," Haymitch replied in a chuckle.

"I fail to see how this is funny…"

"Yeah, at first it isn't, but when you stop seeing it as an isolated incident…"

"What other incident do you want me to pair it with?"

"Snow's murder."

I shook my head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Haymitch arranged his position on the couch so he was now facing me.

"The same night Snow informs his relatives he's dying from stomach cancer and that he intends to leave his charge as President, his daughter gets poisoned and almost dies," he said. "On the other end of the house, a woman, who happens to be Snow's grandson's girlfriend, actually _dies_ from cyanide poisoning, which prompts said grandson to kill himself by drowning in the pool. Three days later, Snow also dies when someone slices his throat with a knife that is later found on his youngest grandson's closet. Does all that look like a series of unfortunate events to you?"

"No," I answered, after a few seconds that it took me to get it all in. "But I don't remember him saying he had informed somebody else about his condition... And I don't recall myself telling you that, either. How did...?"

"The kid. I asked him to keep me awake while driving, to tell me what happened since the beginning and he started from the _very_ beginning."

"Did he tell you Snow was going to choose one of us to replace him?"

"Yeah. He chose Cinna."

I inhaled sharply. "Why?"

"According to the boy, his mommy wasn't Snow's first option, so that left him and the older peacock out of the equation."

"Peeta is too young for the position anyway, but Alma and Finnick… Well…"

"Finnick is too full of himself, and his mother looks like she wants power above everything else. Peeta said Snow didn't want either of them taking over the country for the sake of the family name."

"That always seemed to be his first concern, didn't it?" I laughed quietly. "So the only remaining options were me and Cinna…"

"Yes, and with you storming out of the room, Cinna hit the jackpot."

"Did he accept it?"

"Surprisingly, he did. And even more shocking, everyone in the room seemed very pleased with the final decision."

"Well, someone wasn't _that_ pleased..."

"Exactly."

I nodded slowly. "So you're saying that maybe the cyanide was for Cinna and that Portia's death was collateral damage…"

Haymitch sighed. "No, I'm saying that Portia's death was the means to an end. Killing Cinna right after he was named the rightful heir to the Snow dynasty is definitely not an option if you're thinking about stealing the title for yourself and not going to prison for it."

I looked at him right in the eye. "That reduces the pool of suspects to only three people."

"Four, if we count you."

"Really? Is that what you are going to say to me right now?"

"I'm just warning you, Trinket. If my theory is correct and Latier is thinking alike, they're gonna come after you."

I averted my gaze and stared to the wall. "And Peeta will be a suspect too…"

"He already is. But if he didn't kill Snow…"

"He didn't do it."

"I know, but given the brute strength that boy possesses, if he were to kill someone, he would do it with his own hands and not with a smidge of a poison he wouldn't recognize even if it hit him in the face in the first place."

"Don't insult him like that. He's a smart kid."

"He's a _good_ kid. He wouldn't kill _anybody_, much less someone he doesn't know only to get to the main target."

I breathed a little bit easier after that. I didn't know what kind of chat Peeta came up with in that car to keep Haymitch up, but whatever it was, it had brought them both to trust each other and that made me strangely happy.

"So it's down to Alma and Finnick, then…" I said, trying to suppress the shiver of horror and disgust that roamed my spine.

"Take your pick. My money's on Coin," Haymitch stated.

"Why?"

"The whole _Oh, I got poisoned too_ charade is complete bullshit."

"Did the CPD interrogate her about it?"

"They did, but she refused to give them any more information than she gave to you."

"Peeta told you that, too?"

"Yep. The kid is good cop material. He knows how to listen, what to keep in, what details you need to pay more attention to, he figures stuff out really fast…"

"So does Katniss."

"I guess it's fate, then…" Haymitch snorted.

"Half an hour ago you wouldn't even let them _sleep_ in the same house and now you think they met because of _fate_? You're one weird man, did you know that?"

"So you keep saying…"

I smiled and we fell silent again for another couple minutes.

"The weird man has a question," he said, raising his hand a little. "Do you know if Snow left some kind of last will somewhere?"

"Why?" I asked frowning.

"Well, I was thinking, you know… Why wasn't Cinna's death enough? I mean, if Snow did choose him as his successor that night, he couldn't possibly write it down right away, could he? It doesn't make sense to have a meeting with your lawyer at your own birthday party, on a Friday, with hundreds of people around…"

"Well, he did have a meeting with his family to discuss it and the lawyer attended the party, so…"

"Did he?"

I sat straighter. "Yes."

Haymitch studied my face for a second and then his own hardened. "The guy following you…"

I nodded. "Seneca Crane. His father was Snow's lawyer until he died ten years ago, and then Seneca took his place."

He frowned. "And you went all nervous and jumped at me when you saw him at the party because…"

"He and I had a thing going on for a couple of years before I left the Capitol. It did not end up well," I lied.

Well… I didn't lie. Seneca and I did have a thing going on for a couple of years. A very serious thing, I must say. We were engaged to be married. But it didn't end up 'not well'; it ended up being a nightmare, but I wasn't about to tell Haymitch about that.

"Okay," he went on, with his eyes still fixed on mine. "Then there's no chance that you could talk to him about the will thing…"

The exact same fear I felt that night when I saw Seneca again took its place at the pit of my stomach.

"I could do it," I lied again. "But I don't know if he would want to talk to me…"

"You dumped him, didn't you?"

I ran away from him as fast as I could, so, in a way, I suppose… "Yes, I did. He didn't take it very smoothly…"

Haymitch stared at me some more, as if he was aware of all the lies, but he didn't comment on it.

"I'll tell Latier to put someone to it," he said at last, getting up.

He stretched his limbs and started to walk towards the door as I stood up too.

"I'll take Peeta to your house after breakfast," I offered, following him.

"Yeah, about that…" he replied, opening the door and stepping out. "I thought about it and he better stay here with you. I'm gonna be going in and out of the Capitol and he'll be alone all the time, so… I wouldn't like to find my house burnt down when I come back."

I leaned against the door, smiling. "Don't worry. I'll keep the matches in check."

He smirked and bowed his head before he started to walk away.

"Haymitch…" I called, not really knowing what to say next.

He stopped and turned around. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for bringing Peeta… And for everything else."

He just blinked. "You're welcome. Just make sure you put some clothes on next time…"

And then I saw it again: the darkness in his eyes when he looked at me head to toe.

In any other circumstance, I would have chided him to hell and back for thinking of me in such an inappropriate way. In _this_ circumstance, I _should_ have felt a wave of indignation at his sudden lust, call him a pig and slam the door. But for a reason I still can't make out – maybe the chance to throw his words back at him, maybe the electric charge in his look making me feel somewhat confident, or maybe this new image of him as a hero of some sort, starting to draw itself on my mind – all I did was tilt my head to the side and cross my arms upon my chest.

"Does it make you uncomfortable?" I said smirking, my voice all husky and involuntarily seductive.

For a second there, when I saw him clenching his jaw, I thought he was going to resume his march towards the elevator without another word, or laugh at me and say something like 'Don't think so much of yourself, sweetheart'. For a second I thought I would have to find a way to cope with the embarrassment every time I saw him from then on. For a second I almost regretted having said anything.

The next second his eyes went even darker, his feet took him back to my door, he pulled me against his body and his lips crashed on mine with the force of a meteor.

My lungs and my mind stopped working. I stood there, still, eyes wide open in utter shock, trying to make sense of what was happening, to decide either to go with it or to pull away and slap him for his presumptuousness – which was outright preposterous, right? I was the one who made the first step by not closing the door and getting back inside the apartment immediately after he bowed his goodbyes…

When his calloused fingers made contact with the bare skin of my waist, every thought and every regret from before were gone. My heart started racing and my arms found their way from his chest to his neck, pulling him even closer. I kissed him back with all I had and he took that as a cue to get us back inside.

Next thing I knew, my back hit the wall of the hallway and his mouth latched on my neck. I swallowed hard when his hand found my thigh and propped it around his waist.

"Wait…" I whispered, pulling away when his lips fell on mine again.

His eyes searched mine and his arms tightened around me. He was panting as hard as I was, and his breath brushed my lips every time he exhaled. If his eyes were dark before, now they were two pools of deep blackness threatening to get even deeper.

"This isn't very wise…" I went on, putting my hands on his chest and pushing him away slightly.

"Yeah…" Haymitch answered and extricated himself from me.

"The kids are in the next room…"

"Right… We're not setting the best example here…" He fixed the collar of his shirt.

"Yes. And you _reek _of alcohol…" I faked a disgusted face that only made him smirk.

"We'll blame it on the booze, then…"

He wrapped an arm around my waist again and kissed me quickly, releasing me before I could respond.

"Just so you know…" he said, already by the threshold. "You're never seeing me sober again…"

I just bit my lower lip as he closed the door behind him.

* * *

_Hey, guys! I really, really hope you like this chapter (I mean, they _kissed_. Finally.) I had quite a time writting it and now I'd love to know what you think, so please leave a comment down here, will you? *Puppy eyes*_  
_A giant lot of love for all of you and a ton of hugs,_  
_Liv :)_


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**

Some people – especially the ones who haven't taken the time to look closely – may not acknowledge it, but Seven is a beautiful district. There's something in the way the woods go from the very edge of the city to the top of the mountain that makes you feel strangely at ease, as if you knew that if you're trying to keep a secret, whatever it is, you can count on the forest to help you do it. In Katniss' words: _It's like you could go get lost in there and not be afraid of never being found again, 'cause you know the woods will look after you._

I'm not exactly one to go hiking and blending in with the nature. I guess it has to do with my raising; in the Capitol is absolutely unacceptable for a child to appear in polite society wearing filthy clothes from an afternoon playing in the dirt. And if besides being a Capitol-born girl you happen to be the President's only granddaughter, well... You also happen to be banned from being a normal kid. So when you grow up and move to a place surrounded by the wild, you are not exactly fond of it.

That doesn't keep you from admiring its beauty, though. I often find myself looking through my window, taking in the view of the city beneath my building, which in the distance will turn into smaller neighborhoods to finally merge with the green. It looks even more beautiful when it's dark and you can see the lights clustering up together here and there and then spreading to the edges of the city as tiny little yellow dots, each one farther apart from the other until they disappear in the depth of the woods. It's kind of like I'm stepping on the top of the galaxy, watching all the stars twinkling beneath me, and that is always enough to soothe me and make me feel a little more grounded.

Well, not always. That night, apparently, my brain and body had another plans.

When the view did absolutely _nothing_ to calm down my nerves, I tried sleeping. But as soon as my head touched the pillow I had brought to the couch, everything that had happened since I put a foot back in the Capitol started to replay in my mind. It was at least a little frightening how drastically my life had changed in only four days: I had lost one beloved cousin, taken in the other one in order to protect him from being arrested for a crime he didn't commit, been temporarily kicked out of my job for a fault that wasn't even mine – and that I was pretty sure couldn't be considered a proper fault, either – and jeopardized the already fragile relationship I had with my probably only friend in the world.

Of course, there was the matter of Snow's death putting in danger the political sanity of the country now that no one was at the top of the government, but that was something I couldn't single-handedly fix even if I cared enough to do it. And I very much _didn't_ give a damn about it.

Although… I should care, shouldn't I? Because in the grand scheme of things and according to Haymitch's daring theory, it was all very closely related…

_Haymitch_.

How on _Panem_ had he managed to creep his way into my thoughts?

It couldn't be that kiss alone, now, could it? I mean, I wasn't a teenager anymore, and even _then_ I needed a little – okay, a _lot_ – more courting to get this worked up. That was the way things were and probably still are done in the City, anyway: if a guy wants you, he has to _earn_ you. Flowers, dresses, shoes, travelling around the world in a private jet, plastic surgery… You put the price, he has to pay it for as long as you find it reasonable if he wants your relationship to eventually lead towards something serious, like marriage.

Back in my days as the Capitol darling, I used to have sky-high standards for my suitors. Take Seneca, for instance: he had been trying to get me since I turned eighteen, but only did so seven or eight years after my entire life went to hell and my standards had dropped to the ground. I guess they hadn't risen one inch, since all Haymitch Abernathy had to do was show up and act as someone remotely interesting to gain my attention…

Or maybe they had. There was no point of comparison between Seneca and Haymitch, really. Seneca was selfish, secretly cruel, ready to go to the end of the world and beyond to accomplish his twisted purposes, not concerned in the slightest about who he had to hurt to get there… If he had to kill half of the City to reach the top, he would do it without a doubt. He made that very clear right before I ran away. Haymitch, on the other hand… He cared about people other than himself; he certainly made a point of _acting_ like he didn't, but he did and had proven so many times along the two months we had been working side by side. And in my book, that fact alone made him a better man than Seneca was ever going to be.

If not, well… At least he kissed better.

A quiver ran down my back at the memory of his lips assaulting my neck and his hands roaming on my skin, and I decided that was a good time to get up from the couch; if I stayed lying there, his dark eyes would invade my mind and soon I wouldn't be able to think of anything else but him, and that was the last thing I needed right then. Yes, Peeta was effectively safe in my room and in other circumstances that would have made for a splendid sleep inducer, but right now his safety was hanging by a thread above a giant wolf's mouth and if I didn't ensure that it didn't fall – given the _oh so deep_ interest his mother and brother had shown so far –, nobody would.

Trying to avoid all the creaky planks on the floor, I made my way into my room and directly to the closet, grabbed the box from the bottom of it and rushed back to the living room. I left the box on the coffee table and went into Kat and Prim's room and took the wooden board I kept behind their closet, all the while making sure I wasn't disturbing anybody's sleep.

_You wouldn't be going through all this trouble if you used the storage room as a study._

The thought came to my mind in Deen's voice. He used to say stuff like that: _You don't need a storage room; you have nothing to put in there. If you're not going to sleep all night then use that time doing something productive; otherwise you just lose sleep and look like shit in the morning. Stop overthinking everything: put it into action. You're just no good at doing things out of impulse, Trinket, so stop trying, put one of your stupid plans together and follow it!_

Wherever he was, if he were watching me, he would be really proud. I was putting all of his advice into practice.

I picked some pieces of paper, a pen and a bunch of pins from the kitchen table's drawer – maybe the idea of turning the storage room into a study wasn't so absurd after all – and finally sat down in my couch again, taking a deep breath and generally preparing myself to dive in a sea of painful memories.

I started by emptying the box onto the coffee table. Three photo albums came out of it, along with at least four dozens of other pictures.

I didn't even remember the last time I had opened that box. I didn't think I would ever do it again either, but for the purpose of the investigation, I needed to. I have always been a visual person. I need to look at my suspects in the eye to know how to proceed; I need to look at someone in the eye so I can decide I want them around or not. But since almost all my current suspects were in the Capitol and according to Plutarch I shouldn't have gone there and meddle with this case in the first place, I had no other option than use the old pictures my mother gave me when she died. I suppose she did it as her last resource in order to make me try to fit in with the family. _They are, at the end of the day, your only support in this world, Effie dear_, she had said back then. _You're only making it more difficult for them to like you_.

As if they had done something to make it any easier…

I pushed that thought aside for the time being and concentrated in finding photos of every member of the family that had attended to Snow's birthday party.

Peeta's was the easiest to find. It was the first picture of the pile: a beaming six-year-old blonde boy dressed in a bright white, tiny tuxedo and holding a white pillow with two golden rings on it. _Ring bearer_. The photo must have been taken right before Alma's wedding to Alpheus Coin, about ten years ago… He may had grown several feet taller, gotten a lot stronger and – as I was certain Katniss thought but would never say out loud – gone from being a sweet, cute child to be a very handsome young man, but his eyes hadn't change one bit. Back in the day, all you had to do was look into six-year-old Peeta's pure blue eyes to know he wasn't responsible for whatever prank his older brother was blaming on him. The second I had looked into sixteen-year-old Peeta's pure blue eyes a couple hours earlier, I was sure as hell he was not a murderer.

I put the picture under the coffee table and kept searching through the giant stack. Soon enough I found myself staring longingly at a picture of Cinna. He was smiling proudly at the young blonde woman that hanged from his arm.

The minute I realized that the woman in the picture was _me_, all the memories from that night came back to my mind like a tidal wave. It had been Cinna's first appearance at a national fashion show. Three weeks earlier, he had run into my room and the Presidential mansion with the brightest smile I had ever seen on his face and had told me that his greatest dream had just come true, and that he _needed_ me to share this with him. At the time I wasn't even considering to actually pursue modelling as a career – I liked doing it, but until then all my work as a child model had been an attempt at pleasing my mother and, by extension, the rest of the family – but seeing him so, _so_ happy had been enough to convince me.

The gown I was wearing in the picture was made of black and grey feathers from neckline to bottom. Of course, because it was one of Cinna's designs, it hadn't always been that way. I had first seen it a few hours before the show, and it had been the most beautiful wedding dress, blindingly white, made entirely of feathers as well. He'd said it didn't matter if I only walked the runway once as long as I did it wearing that dress. _Save the twirling for the end_, he had instructed. And when I did, the crowd and – quite literally – the dress caught fire. The skirt set up in flames and in a matter of seconds I was wearing a totally different dress, the one that would put my name and Cinna's on every fashion magazine and subsequently on the top of the fashion world.

I remembered the moment the photo was taken. I was still stunned by the appalling amount of applause I had just gotten on the runway and couldn't breathe, let alone speak properly, but Cinna had lost no time in bringing me to meet some of his sponsors. The flash of the camera caught us when we were laughing about something some rich guy in the backstage had said, and that had been the image that had made it to the cover of most newspapers the next morning. How my mother managed to get a developed copy of that, I'd never know.

Where my mother heard most of her sayings was also a complete mystery. _Speak of the devil and he might come_ was my favorite; it was always accurate and apparently it seemed to work without even actually _speak_, because I had barely looked at a picture of Finnick – a picture that had probably been taken not long after I left, because he looked almost the same age as the last time he tried to get me to carry his child – for five seconds when my door was being punched again.

"Let's do this the easy way, shall we?" Finnick said when I opened, tossing his always charming smile at me. "I know he is here, so please tell him to suit up and come with me and there won't be any consequences."

"A word of advice: never say _please_ when you are threatening someone. It softens the effect," I replied in a plain, bored voice. "Would that be all? Some of us have to go to work tomorrow morning, you know."

His smile turned into a smirk. "My, I half expected you to play dumb and try to delay the inevitable, but I see you _do _want to do this the easy way, so… May I come in?"

"No, you may not. Have a good night."

I tried to close the door, but he put his foot in the way just in time.

"I'm not the real enemy here…" he said calmly, not trying to push the door open as I expected.

"Oh, aren't you, now?" I asked.

Finnick let out a sigh. "No, and it certainly isn't Peeta."

"I'm glad we at least agree on that. He's _safe_ here. He's not going anywhere."

"Who's not going anywhere?" Peeta's not-so-sleepy voice carried from the living room. I turned my head around just as he walked slowly towards the door, frowning and instantly ready to fight whoever was trying to get in the apartment. "Who's there?"

Finnick pushed the door then. Peeta's eyes went wide as saucers.

"What are you doing here?" the boy asked.

"Grab your things and let's go, little brother," Finnick retorted, his face dead serious. "Mom is worried sick."

"Really? I don't think she even _noticed_ I was gone…" His voice was so bitter it made my heart clench a little.

"Peeta…"

"I'm surprised she sent you, though. Isn't she worried I'm going to kill _you_, too?"

"She didn't _send_ me…"

"Don't _ever_ say that again," I said at the same time. "You're not a murderer."

"I might as well be for all she cares," Peeta replied, looking at me now. "If it had been _him_, now, things would be a lot different…"

There was so much pain in his eyes he looked like he was physically wounded. I would have reached for him and hug him really tight until all that sorrow disappeared if Katniss hadn't chosen that exact moment to walk into the scene.

She stopped short as soon as she saw how many people were in the room. Her eyes went from Peeta to me, then to Finnick, back to Peeta and finally landed on the pictures on top of the coffee table.

"What's that?" she asked, pointing a finger to my mess.

_Not the question I was waiting for… _

"They're just old pictures, dear. Go back to sleep," I said with a tiny and unconvincing smile.

"Why the board?" Again, _not_ what I expected.

"I'm trying to figure out something…"

"Don't you need a picture of every guest who attended the party to do that?"

"Well, no… How do y-?"

"I heard everything." She stared at Peeta, and his shoulders sagged in relief.

"You don't need to hear the whole story, then," Finnick cut in. "That'll save us time. Come on, Peeta…"

He took a step towards the boy as if to grab him. I grabbed his arm instead and dragged him out of the apartment.

"I think we already covered this subject, didn't we?" I said coolly, intending to close the door. "He's not going _anywhere_…"

"Neither is Finnick," Katniss said, her eyes fixed on the photos.

I stared at her, startled and almost gaping. "Excuse me?"

"He was there the whole time. He can help."

"He's a _suspect_, Katniss…"

"Of _course_, I am," Finnick snorted.

"Did you kill Cinna?" she asked him bluntly.

The question seemed to take him aback, but he recovered quickly. "No, I didn't."

"Did you kill Snow?"

"I didn't, either."

Katniss looked at me. "You think he's lying?"

Suddenly, all eyes were on me. Katniss expected an answer. Peeta expected to be betrayed. Finnick's expression was unreadable.

"It's not that simple, Kat…" I managed to say after what felt like an eternity.

"Dad used to say that the most obvious answer is often the right one…" she started.

"In case you missed it, dear, the most obvious answer here is that Peeta killed his own grandfather in cold blood and then hid the weapon in his own closet…"

"Do you believe that?"

"Of course not!"

"Do you believe Finnick did it?"

I looked at Finnick right in the eyes, and for some weird reason all I could see was the teenager in the picture I was looking at five minutes earlier, the one that at age fourteen had had the guts – and presumably the right amount of persuasion from his mother – to offer me an incestuous deal. It didn't make it any easier for me to swallow his newly proclaimed innocence.

"I'm _not_ the real enemy, Effie…" he said again in a whisper, as if begging me to _understand_.

I don't know if it was the pleading tone or the rare use of my name, but something in that sentence didn't feel quite right.

From the very first words he uttered as a child until the half-cooked threat he spat when I opened the door earlier, I was under the strong impression that Finnick Odair was incapable of speaking from his own mind. Every single thing he said, whether in front of a camera or not, seemed to be carefully scripted and memorized to perfection, therefore very difficult for me to believe. But after I tried and failed to throw him out of the apartment the first time… I had been too busy trying to keep him away from Peeta to notice, but it was like all the words had come from _him_. It sounded as if he was genuinely worried for his brother, as if he actually was not going to leave without him, as if he actually was _not_ the enemy…

The realization suddenly fell on me.

_He knew now_. He finally had understood what I had known all along – what I'd been living since the beginning.

"Why not?" I asked, feeling my expression soften. _Why didn't he just kill him?_

"Because I can't protect him from jail," Finnick responded quietly.

"I don't _need_ you to protect me!" Peeta exclaimed.

"I'm not talking about you, Peeta…"

"Then who do you have to protect?" The boy shook his head in confusion.

It took me one glance at him to understand what he was saying.

"Annie…" I sighed.

Finnick's smile lasted less than a second but could barely be contained by his face.

"If it's a boy, she wants to call him Finn…" he said.

The smile that followed was laced with dread, and I knew right then that whoever killed Snow had just cut off one head. Now two more would take its place.

* * *

Yeah, it's been a while, but I'm back! Although I can't promise anything about regular updates (us Chileans sart our schoolyear on March, and this semester will be crazy), I can promise I'll try my best :) Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it! Drop me a line with your thoughts!

Lots of love and a giant hug, Liv :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

By the time I looked down at the board full of pictures and notes, the sun was already starting to rise. It had taken us about three hours to get it done, and if the children's faces were to be trusted, it had been all a futile effort.

"So, this is _only_ square one?" Peeta asked in a sigh, the frustration plain in his voice.

I couldn't help a fond smile.

"That's exactly what I said when Deen made me do this the first time," I said, feeling Katniss' eyes suddenly falling on me. "But it will help, I promise. Once you have this, it will all fall into place more easily."

"Alright, let's play Clue, then," Finnick cut in, smiling and clapping once in mock excitement. "Friday night at ten o'clock, Presidential Mansion. Effie, Peeta, Cinna, Mom, Grandpa and I are sitting around a table discussing Grandpa's newly announced illness and Panem's political future. Effie and Mom have a disagreement and Effie storms out. Grandpa chooses Cinna as his successor and we all flee the room. I go back to Annie, Peeta goes back to Katniss, Mom goes back to play the hostess, Grandpa goes to his room to rest for a minute and Cinna goes back to the party and tries to find his girlfriend Portia. A while later, Annie goes to the bathroom. Meanwhile, we don't know where Effie has been all this time until we meet her and this Haymitch guy in said bathroom where Annie is screaming for dear life because Portia is dead right there on the floor. Effie goes to find Cinna but she finds Peeta instead who can't find Mom. They go searching for her when they bump into Cinna, who runs to the bathroom as soon as he hears about Portia. Afterwards, he runs away from the cops towards the pool where he drowns himself, effectively dying. How's that so far?"

"Very accurate," I nodded.

"So, Peeta found his mom before or after Cinna…?" Kat said.

"Before," he replied. "He had just left the bathroom when I came in."

Finnick stared at the board for a moment. "Well, it looks too much like an accident to me," he commented.

"Haymitch said something about it earlier," I said, recalling my previous conversation. "Why wasn't Cinna's death enough?"

"And what did he mean by that?"

"He never finished his theory, but I think _he_ thinks this was planned with anticipation. He asked me if I knew of someone who was aware of Snow's cancer or if there was a last will somewhere…"

Finnick frowned. "Not that I know of… Why?"

"Well, if there is a last will, then there's a lawyer involved…"

"You mean Crane…"

"Exactly. He could have known about Snow's condition."

"Not a chance. Grandpa fired him three months ago."

That brought my eyebrows right up to my hairline. "How so?"

"I have no idea. Yesterday he was the family lawyer, today he's not anymore. Business decision, I suppose."

"Finnick, we both know Snow didn't make any decisions _that_ fast…"

"What do you know, maybe he thought Crane was after his money or his power and took care of it in the smoothest way possible."

"Well, if that's good enough of a reason, he should have done it years ago, don't you think?"

"I don't, actually. I don't think Crane was after Grandpa's blessing, even…"

"But he was."

"How are _you_ so sure?"

"Seneca told me." Loud and clear. Leaving an ugly bruise on my cheek. Making me crawl away from him in fear he would kill me if I didn't do what he wanted me to.

"Well, point is this Crane guy was already fired when Snow's diagnosis was out," Katniss piped in, "so he had no way to know about it and thus couldn't have planned anything, could he?"

"No, he couldn't," I answered softly. "Who was taking care of his legal matters, then?"

"Mom did," Peeta replied. "But she didn't know he was sick."

"Or so she said," Kat muttered.

All eyes – including mine – fell on her at once.

"What?" she shrugged. "Seems pretty clear to me. Every Snow in this room was at the meeting that night and we know for sure they didn't kill their cousin's girlfriend. Two of the other Snows at the meeting, including said cousin, are death. I'm sorry to break it to you, guys, but your mother is the only option left."

Katniss and Haymitch may not like each other all that much, but they tend to sound very similar when they are dead convinced of something. I guess it has something to do with their District 12 roots, because Deen was exactly the same. Or maybe I just have the hidden talent of attracting stubborn people towards me, I don't know. Either way, it didn't look like a coincidence that both of them had the same thought after analyzing the facts, and I had to admit that the more I heard about it, the less absurd the idea of Alma plotting Cinna' and Snow's death sounded.

Finnick and Peeta were another story. Or so I thought. I expected Finnick to defend his mother with teeth and claws, or Peeta to fall in a state of a constant denial, but all I got was a quick look between the two of them and a pair of glances dropping to the floor.

"That's it?" Katniss asked, sharing my surprise. Was that it? Weren't they going to protest against the biggest insult ever thrown at their mother? Were they really going to believe that easily that the woman who had given them birth was, in fact, a murderer or worse, a serial killer?

"Well, it _is_ the only option, isn't it?" Peeta said, a dark tone creeping up his voice. "I can't say I'm shocked, really. We all know what my mom can do when she wants something."

His gaze went from me to Finnick. I realized right then that he knew about the incest debacle, but I didn't think it was the right moment to discuss it. Not in front of Katniss anyway; she already knew so much more about my life that I ever wanted her to know, and I didn't want add _this_ to that list.

"I just would like to know if she killed Grandpa too, and if she did, why she is trying to blame it on me," Peeta finished, almost in a sob.

My hand acted on its own accord and fell on his shoulder in an attempt of comfort. He looked up at me and gave me a smile so small and fake it made my heart ache.

"Well, _I_ would like to know how could she have planned it all if she didn't know he was sick," Finnick said.

"That's the thing: she either knew or she had planned to be the last one standing all along," Katniss concluded.

"That would mean our life is still in danger…" His tone was so serious I didn't know what disturbed me more: Finnick Odair, Capitol extraordinaire, openly fearing something so mundane like death, or Finnick Odair, his mother's number one worshipper contemplating the possibility of her being dangerous.

"Speak for yourself," Peeta mumbled. "I'm already in deep shit…"

"Language," I chided him for good, getting up from the floor. "And I think it's enough for tonight. Or for a lifetime. Everybody back to sleep. Now."

Katniss and Peeta reluctantly did as they were told and each went back to their respective rooms, leaving Finnick and I alone. I turned to him and he shrugged.

"I haven't sleep in almost 24 hours," he said, trying to joke. "I think I can go on a couple more, don't you worry."

"What did he say when you told him?" I asked instead, no making anymore preambles.

His joking mood vanished in a millisecond. "He laughed for about ten minutes. Then he said it was just like his blood to get mingled with filthy mud. First aunt Deanna, then aunt Noelia and now me. He said he had higher hopes for me, that even though my mother had raised me in a way he didn't approve in the slightest, he thought I would turn out to be smart enough to get in line on my own and follow his steps. But now… Oh, now he hoped I had turned out to be smart enough, and I quote: 'to get rid of the whore and her bastard,' or walk away and never come back as you and Cinna wisely did when you had the chance."

"Did you tell Alma about the baby?"

"God, no. Can you imagine?" He chuckled. "She was so bent on me keeping the pureness of the Snow heritage by having a kid with you she would pull her eyelashes out one by one before admitting that her grandchild has District blood in his or her veins."

That got a tiny laugh out of me.

"By the way," he went on, growing more serious and holding my gaze, "I didn't have the chance before to tell you that making you run away from home because of _that_ is and always will be my biggest regret. I now understand what you went through all your life, and I'm deeply sorry I made it even more miserable for you. I'll never be able to make it up to you, even less now that you're doing everything in your power to save my baby brother from rotting in jail for a crime he's not responsible for. I guess that shows off how much better of a person you are than I'm ever going to be, and I just hope someday – maybe not right now, but someday – you can forgive me."

The full-on honesty caught me off guard. I had had some honest family moments before with Cinna, but this was completely, absolutely different. This was _Finnick Odair_ offering me an actual apology for _years and years _of mocking me and picking on me and making me feel even more humiliated than I already felt for being a child of a District. All my life I wondered what it would take for him to admit that I didn't deserve so much _shit_ from him, and as it turned out, it took _another_ child of a District: his own.

Right then, I wondered what if Annie had never barged into his life. A part of me – the one that knew I wasn't as good as a person as he made it sound before – wanted to laugh and scream that if so, we wouldn't even be here, Finnick would still be the same prick from his golden years and my life would be much simpler because I'd never have received his heartfelt apology.

But the damage was already done, he had finally said the words I had waited for ages to hear and I couldn't just stand there without saying something.

"First of all, I didn't run away _only_ because of that," I started. "It was twenty years in the making. And I'm not such a good person; I just do what I think is right. Which is the same thing you're doing right now, so I guess we're even."

Something akin to relief washed on his face and he gave me a lazy smile that showed how tired he was, so I offered my makeshift bed for him to rest for a while.

"What about you?" he frowned. "You're out of beds. Where are you going to sleep?"

"It's after dawn," I shrugged. "I never sleep in. I would have woken up by this time anyway, so… Make yourself comfortable."

I left him on his own and went to the bathroom. While in the shower, I realized that Finnick was right: I was out of bedrooms, my apartment was packed as it was and I was in dire need of a plan.

Haymitch's voice suddenly sneaked into my head.

_Besides, I already offered him my place and he accepted, so you're a little too late._

I tried to push that thought out of my mind immediately. It implied too much imposing on my part. Haymitch was helping me out so much already it just didn't feel fair.

So why I was walking towards his front door that morning after I had dropped the girls at school, I honestly had no idea.

The construction was not exactly a mansion but it was big enough to house at least four people comfortably. Unlike the rest of the houses of the block – which looked all practically the same – Haymitch's looked remarkably empty and uncared-for. There were bushes everywhere – not pretty ones, though; these looked a tad bit scary –, the paint was cracked, part of the roof was broken and the smell… He could say he wasn't a drunk all he wanted but the reek of whiskey that filled the air seemed to come directly from his house.

I actually had to put my sleeve on my nose to avoid throwing up before I knocked on the door.

"Haymitch?" I shouted, when the knocking didn't work. "Are you alive?"

I had no luck with that either, so I did what I thought one should do in this cases: I found a soft spot – which happened to be the back door – and slipped in.

The room I got in was the graphic definition of mess. The sink was filled with dirty dishes from who knows how many days ago, the counter was coated with bread crumbs and the floor looked sticky; that last thing, and certainly the nauseous smell, could have been explained by the dozen and a half empty bottles of liquor sitting under the table.

I didn't make the mistake take a look at the rest of the rooms and just ran upstairs, guessing I would find the master bedroom and thus Haymitch in there.

Just as I predicted, the door to the master bedroom was open and showed me a sleeping Haymitch sprawled on his stomach. From where I was standing I couldn't see his face, but given the twitches of his fingers, the sporadic shakes of his shoulders and the whimpers he was letting out, I figured his expression wouldn't be peaceful.

He was having a nightmare, and not a light one.

"Leave him alone, you motherfucker…" I could make out from his asleep muttering. "Don't touch him! He's dead, you fucking moron, isn't that fucking good enough for you?"

When I was a little girl, I almost killed my mother with the bedside lamp in the throw of a nightmare, so I learned pretty early not to wake up someone by touching them. I picked up a dirty shirt from the floor instead, made a ball with it and threw it at his back, knowing by sight that there was no bedside lamp he could kill me with.

I should have feared the knife I didn't know he slept with, though.

It happened too quickly for me to describe it. One second I was trying to wake Haymitch up, the next he was screaming bloody murder, rising up from the bed and throwing a knife towards the wall I was standing by. The blade cut my jacket, my blouse and drew out a little blood from my left arm, the cut not deep enough to leave a scar but sharp enough to make me shriek in pain.

The sound brought him back to Awakeland. He was panting hard, his eyes darting around him in confusion until he spotted me standing there, speechless and holding my wounded arm with my other hand.

"What the fuck are you doing here?!" he shouted, getting up from the bed and striding towards me. When I didn't respond, he looked at the hand clutching my arm and registered the blood in my fingers. "_Shit_…" he whispered, reaching for my hand to inspect the wound.

I instinctively avoided the touch by pulling my arm away, maybe out of shock, maybe out of fear.

"Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you," he said softly, trying again. "Anymore."

I stood still as he maneuvered my hands and arm out of the way. He wince a little when he saw the cut and let out a sigh. Then he took me by the other arm and drew my into the en-suite bathroom.

"Take off the jacket," he instructed as he searched the drawers of his vanity for a first-aid kit. When I didn't move nor took my wide eyes off of him, he sighed once again, his face softening, and looked at me right in the eyes. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you were there. But to be fair, you shouldn't have _been_ there. Don't sneak into people's houses like that. _This_ can happen."

"It doesn't count as a 'sorry' if you add a 'but', you know…" I said, my voice tiny.

He smirked at me for a second and then went serious again. "Still, don't do that, especially with me. I could have killed you."

He waited for me to take my jacket off and then inspected the wound. The tension left his body at once when he realized it wasn't deep. He ripped off the sleeve of my blouse without asking for my opinion and started cleaning the cut with gauze.

"I thought you said you weren't a drunk…" I started, a few minutes later.

"But?" he prompted, not taking his eyes from the task at hand.

"_But_ there is a pile of empty bottles on your kitchen floor that proves you wrong."

His hands stopped for a brief moment and his eyes snapped up.

"Well, there's an exception for every rule, sweetheart…" he said, resuming his actions on my arm.

"So you stay sober as a rule, then…" I replied calmly. "Strange thing, that, considering that you keep a flask close to your heart on a daily basis…"

"What are you, my shrink, now?" He snorted.

"No, but I _am_ concerned about your alcohol consumption. It is not healthy to drink yourself to oblivion like that. And if it causes you nightmares like the one we just experienced, then…"

"The booze has nothing to do with the nightmares," he cut me off. "If anything, it stops them."

"Is that what you were trying to do? Stop the nightmares from catch you?"

He finished bandaging my arm and brushed a thumb right over the wound.

"It didn't work out so well for me this time around, did it?" he whispered, his voice laced with guilt.

Before I could answer, he picked up my jacket, put it over my shoulders and walked back to his room in an evident plea for me to leave him alone.

I resisted the urge to put away the first-aid kit and followed him anyway.

"What was the nightmare about?" I asked tentatively." You said: 'Leave him alone…' Who's _him_?"

"You don't want to know," he said, sitting at the edge of the bed. His tone was one of warning.

"I just asked, Haymitch. I _do_ want to know." I went to sit next to him, not daring to touch but trying to make my words as inoffensive as possible. "Besides, all I know about you is your story with Meg, which happened a billion years ago, while you know about my whole life in the Capitol and _the_ Snow's Grandchild debacle… How is that fair? Partnerships are supposed to be reciprocal…"

"A story for a story. Mine's short, yours' as long as they come. _And _I'm helping with your cousin's case. Sounds pretty fair to me."

We stayed silent for a moment that felt like an eternity.

"Finnick just apologized for making my life miserable by trying to impregnate me with his child in order to earn us Snow's approval," I blurted out, suddenly. "There, now you owe me."

"What the hell did you just say?" Haymitch said, the shock plain on his face.

I heaved out a deep sigh. "Long story short, Alma convinced him of the _pureness of our breed_ and urged him to preserve it, so he tried to convince _me_ to have a kid together and become our Grandfather's favorites while we were at it…"

"Did he ever _try _to get you pregnant? 'Cause I saw him putting his paws on you at the party…"

"That was just for old time's sake, him being the prick I used to know, grossing me out… He even said that my filthy blood wasn't a problem anymore-"

The moment I said it, a big, fat, very red alarm went off in my head.

_Ask Grandpa yourself; I'm sure you'll be glad to hear it._

"That son of a bitch… _He _knew," I whispered, getting up from the bed and out of the room.

Haymitch stared at me in confusion before following me.

"First of all, _language_," he mocked, climbing down the stairs. "You don't get to tell me on mine and then come and curse like a sailor in my own house. And second of all, what-?"

I didn't hear the rest of the question. By the time the door closed behind me, I was already in my car and heading back to my apartment.

* * *

_Hey guys! Thank you so much for reading! I hope you like this chapter (I know, I'm moving at a glacial pace but we're getting there, don't worry ;) ) and let me know what you think in a teeny, tiny comment.  
Lots of love and a big, fat, greasy hug,__Liv :)_


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